Demon In My View
by Raven2687
Summary: A bloodied Gambit seeks aid from the XMen while a mutant predator is on the rampage. As Rogue and Gambit grow closer, the truth behind the mutant attacks is revealed and determines both their fates. RogueRemy COMPLETE!
1. Sanctuary

**Author's Note:** This takes place after Cajun Spice and before Ascension, somewhere in-between but I don't know or care where. I didn't make Gambit talk in third person bc, frankly, it's really annoying. It makes him sound like some egotistic muscle-builder, Schwarzenegger-type and it, well, freaks me out and makes me squirm when I have to read it--ick. And besides, he doesn't even talk like that on Evolution--so I don't understand why people are so prone on doing it. Anyway, this is my first fanfic so bare with me--it might come off weird at first but it gets less cloudy later on. 

**Prologue - Sanctuary**

He lay there, sprawled upon the asphalt like a heap of discarded trash. He had no trouble looking the part with torn clothing, disheveled hair, and blood-caked skin. It was a pitiful sight, worthy of scaring away any passerby for fear of gore. Somehow he had managed to drag himself to the gates of the Xavier Institute. The trail of crimson liquid he left would not go unnoticed. What if he had been followed? The thought only crossed his mind for an instant, pushed away by another stab of electrifying pain. He couldn't really remember the last time things hurt so much. He tried to convince himself he'd been in worse situations. 

_Anybody home?_ he wondered. _S'pose t'be helpful, dese people...goody-two shoes... _

The gate loomed before him in its iron strength. In the darkness the bars looked like teeth, the lower jaw of a leviathan monster--and he was in its mouth, being devoured by the second. That sure would explain the annoying pain. 

He should not have come to this place. Who was he to think they would help him? He was their enemy--or so he thought they considered him. He had, on several occasions, tried to blow these X-Men up. Constantly battling with people did not bode well for one's reputation. But if he could not receive help here, where else would he go? Nowhere. He had absolutely nowhere and no one to turn to. 

A screen glowed to the right of the wrought-iron gates, complete with number pad and microphone. He dragged himself to the faint neon light and pressed the call button. Nothing happened--or so he thought. He pressed it again, and again, and again... His hand dropped, his strength depleted. He crumpled back against the wall. Maybe they wouldn't come because they knew who he was. Maybe they would just leave him to die because they knew it was what he deserved. Maybe they were all just asleep. The time had escaped him--he figured it had to be the wee, ungodly hours of early, early morning. 

_Heh_, he thought, _never knew it'd end like dis_... He almost smirked. All the life-threatening situations, all the death-defying stunts, all the moments when he could have deceased in a blaze of glory--and he would go lying on the street like a homeless bum who'd pissed off some homicial people. Life's lit'le quirks... 

Then, for some odd reason, the gates began to open. At first he thought he was seeing things, because how could the jaw of a monster bend apart at such angles? World's turnin' into a crazy place, he concluded. 

Voices surrounded him, the sounds of rushed footsteps and urgent voices. Then shadows covered his already impaired sight and he felt himself being lifted by hands of different shapes and sizes. It was a nice feeling, like a strange, assorted massage. He would have smirked at his own delirious notions, if it weren't for the incredibly annoying pain he felt all over. Thoughts of that allowed room for little else. 


	2. Unexpected Guest

**Chapter One - Unexpected Guest  
**  
It all started the night they found Gambit on the street. Rogue would never forget that night. The weekend had started off saturated with tedium, if one did not stop to consider the possible armageddon of Apocalypse and recent anti-mutant outbreaks--too much thinking only caused needless worry. Rogue didn't want to think about Apocalypse. Whenever she did the anger and betrayal was almost too much to bear. Not to mention she felt a very strong urge to break things. She had already gone through four mirrors.  
  
Saturday night. Two o' clock ante meridian. Accompanied with a TV remote and Lays Baked potato chips, Rogue was quite content, ensconced on the living room couch. Everybody else was asleep after a tiring night of movies, concerts, or parties. All those annoying social things. Rogue huffed at the thought, watching a commericial about Bicardi. Like holding the bottle would really make you more attractive to the opposite sex.  
  
_Ah suppose Ah shouldn't be one to talk_, Rogue thought, and suddenly her skeptical mood turned to self-loathing. She hated remembering her powers, remembering her curse. She looked at her hands; the gloves sat on the cushion next to her. Poisonous, alabaster skin. Disturbed, violated mind. She winced, a hand going like reflex to her temple. They were acting up, the usually dormant psyches that Xavier had purged earlier. For some reason they were giving her more pain, more splitting migraines that made sure she was secluded from noise, light, and people.   
  
Apocalypse had drained her of their strength, but little bits of the people she absorbed still remained. She had more control nowadays but if she ever let them, if they ever got too strong, they could take over. The headache subsided soon enough, leaving her at peace.  
  
She shoved a hand into the potato chip bag and munched away, focusing once again on the late-night show she was watching. I Love Lucy. The classics were less annoying than contemporary fad interests like The Bachelor or Everybody Loves Raymond. God, she couldn't stand modern-day media.  
  
Lucy was very occupied trying to gather a flock of baby chicks when Logan strode into the room looking gruffier than usual.  
  
Rogue looked up, raising an eyebrow at him. "Um...can't sleep?"  
  
The man turned his near-feral eyes at her and grunted, "Somebody's beeping."  
  
"What, at the gate?"  
  
"Yup. Tryin' to decide whether or not I care to check."  
  
"Probably some hobo wanting food or shelter," Rogue yawned, thinking on the few times that had happened. She put away the chips and turned off the television. "Ah'll go with you, else they might get scared and run away."  
  
"Ain't that a good thing?"   
  
Rogue smirked, following her mentor and trusted friend towards the monitor room.   
  
Computer screens littered a wall, depicting various camera-watched areas on the Institute grounds. Two cameras were hidden at the front gate, showing different angles. The one on the left had a good view of the gate's call pad.   
  
"Looks like a pile of junk," Logan said, running a hand through his blue-black hair.   
  
Rogue stared at the screen, saw the pile of junk move. "It's a man!" she exclaimed. "And he's..." Her voice trailed away, heart beginning to pound in a fashion all-too-familiar and all-too-unwelcome. Was it? Could it be?  
  
"Damn it," Logan cursed under his breath as he noticed dark splotches on the sidewalk. "Looks like the punk's bleedin'. Might need medical attention. Of all the nights.... I was actually having a good sleep. Hate being so alert sometimes." He growled in irritation and left the room. Rogue followed.  
  
They stopped in the foyer when met with Hank McCoy and Ororo Munroe. All four stared at each other in groggy confusion before Ororo finally said, "What are you doing up so early?"   
  
Rogue noticed her hair was slightly disheveled, but she still looked as elegant and beauteous as ever.   
  
"Ask you the same thing, 'Ro."  
  
"Charles sensed a disturbance outside," Hank explained. "He awoke us to investigate."  
  
"Why didn't he wake me up?" Logan asked, somewhat perplexed. He prided himself in being the go-to guy, the problem solver of sticky situations amongst a group that constantly got stuck in them.  
  
Rogue rolled her eyes and pulled open the door, "You were already awake. C'mon, the guy needs help."  
  
Logan told her to stay at the door while he and the other adults rushed outside. Ororo took to the air while Hank and Logan went to get the X-van. Moments later Rogue stood frozen in the doorway as Hank and Logan carried a limp, bloody figure into the mansion.   
  
It was him. Gambit. And he looked sickly. He looked dead. Rogue could not tear her eyes away though it was what she most wanted to do. His head was split on the forehead, off-center, and bled profusely. The dark crimson covered one side of his face like a ghastly mask. His trench coat was stained in odd and disturbing places--dirt, grass, gravel, but mostly blood. Blood caked and still moist, blood dark and light. His inner uniform of deep navy and maroon lay in tatters over his lean, sinewy form. Scratch marks and tears lay visible on his chest, a large wound in his abdomen exuding precious life fluids. Rogue swallowed, feeling Ororo's hand on her shoulder, feeling the headache returning.  
  
The Beast and the Wolverine carried him to the Infirmary.

News traveled fast around the mansion, especially with the likes of Jubilation Lee and Kitty Pryde. A mansion-full of teenagers only aided the spread of talk and gossip. And despite all the traumas in the world, despite the knowledge of a possibly apocalyptic future, girls would be girls.  
  
"I saw him this morning," Jubilee was telling Rahne. "I went to the Infirmary to get a Band-aid, 'cause I got a papercut you know, and there he was! I mean, he was kinda roughed up but--" She released a whistle, "What a hunk!"  
  
Rahne frowned, "Really? One of Magneto's lackeys?" She pursed her lips dubiously as they made their way into the kitchen. Breakfast was already half-prepared. Jean and Amara stood at the stove flipping French toast while multiple Jamies and Tabitha set the table. Ray, Roberto, and Sam were digging around the fridge and pantry while Kitty, Kurt, and Scott sat idly around, pouring juice or sipping coffee. Bobby was busily icing a morning smoothie. No adults were present.  
  
"I'm telling you, he's got to be the best-looking guy I've seen in Bayville."  
  
Jean carried a plate of French toast and set it on the table, eyeing the two girls curiously, "Who is?"  
  
Jubilee smiled dreamily, "The guy Logan and Hank hauled in last night. Saw him this morning and looked like someone did quite a number on him." She forked a couple pieces of toast and began pouring syrup.  
  
Kitty set the carton of orange juice back in the fridge, carrying her glass to the table. She looked at Jubilee curiously, "Who is it?"  
  
"One of Magneto's dudes," Rahne chimed in.  
  
Immediately everyone stopped their activity and turned to Wolfsbane. She looked at Jubilee who grinned and waved it off like it was nothing. "Oh, what's the big deal? He was hurt and needed help. That's what we X-Men do right, help?"  
  
"But, one of Magneto's guys?" Jaime voiced, back to singularity. Kitty smirked, "Which one?"  
  
Rahne rolled her eyes, "The hot one, apparently."  
  
"Gambit?" Scott frowned, receiving a curious look from the others.  
  
Jubilee's eyes widened, "That's his name? Wow. How cool and mysterious. You think that's what his personality's like? Tricky and--"  
  
Tabitha began laughing, her rosy cheeks deepening. "Oh, this is gonna be something to see," she said. She grabbed an apple and a glass of milk, leaving the kitchen without bothering to stifle her amused laughter.   
  
"I don't see how this is funny," Scott said, still frowning. "How can Xavier allow one of our enemies into the mansion? What if he's trying to infiltrate our defenses?" He took a stiff sip of his coffee.  
  
Kitty rolled her eyes, "Somehow I doubt Gambit would, like, get himself pummeled to a pulp just 'cause he wanted to 'infiltrate our defenses'."  
  
Breakfast resumed in the usual manner, though not without various X-kids discussing their new, unexpected guest. The girls gathered together at one end of the table, and much to Bobby's, Sam's, Ray's, Kurt's, and Roberto's annoyance, were gossiping about the cute Acolyte.   
  
"Oh, he's so dreamy," Bobby mimicked Jubilee, who glared at him. A few of the guys chuckled.   
  
Scott continued to sit and scowl. Jean shook her head at him. Then she noticed something, "Hey, has anyone seen Rogue?"  
  
A steamy mist wafted in the bathroom air. It was warm and humid, clinging to her pale, creamy skin. The shower had been long and hot, but Rogue still felt a little cold. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, a hand resting against the glass. That was her, the slim girl with the white-striped auburn hair and bright green eyes she constantly shrouded with dark, purple make up. She didn't recognize herself. Her reflection winced, her hands going to her temples to massage the pain away.  
  
The personalities in her mind were stirring. Something was bothering them, exciting them until they swam around in her head and knocked about the walls of her brain. Migraines and headaches were the least of their problems though. Some of the trapped psyches were fighting for control, whispering, shouting, and demanding her to do things.   
  
"Shut up, shut up!" Rogue shouted, clutching the sides of her head. She shut her eyes tight, breathing hard. The pounding felt like a sledge hammer, a never-ending assault.   
  
_ You're a monster. You steal people's souls. You're a vampire like her!   
  
Let me out! You can't trap me in here!  
  
I'm, like, totally getting claustrophobic in here.  
  
She's coming. She's coming!  
  
Vhy do you do this to your own brother?  
  
Release me now before I wrench your pathetic mind--  
_  
Rogue gasped. The voices had gone. She clutched the sides of the sink, eyes still closed, tired from the effort of blocking them out. The Professor worked with her several mornings during the week to help her control them. She was getting better at it. The psyches had not been bothering her as much. But recently...recently...  
  
_Ah'm really losing it_, Rogue sighed.   
  
She dried off and went into the room to dress. She donned her usual dark attire, though a subconscious thought swayed her towards a pair of black dress pants and a deep grey off-the-shoulder sweater. Then she weaved her fingers through a pair of black cashmere gloves that Kitty had given her last Christmas. She had never worn them before. She sat at her vanity mirror, brushing smooth her auburn locks. He was still in her mind; his bloody face, his mangled body. Who would do such a thing? And what was worse, what had he done to deserve it? As if the thought irritated her psyches, the headache returned. Rogue winced and set her brush down to massage her head. With a gruff, frustrated groan she stormed out of her room.  
  
The Infirmary was located on the first floor of the mansion. With its automated glass doors, sterilized rooms, white-sheeted beds, and gleaming tools and equipment, it had no trouble giving achieving a hospital atmosphere. Rogue entered the dimly lit area, thinking only of reaching the medicine cabinet. Mr. McCoy made sure to stock various over-the-counter medicines, mostly pain-relievers. Rogue rummaged around until she found one that looked strong enough. She popped a few pills and downed some water, squeezing her eyes shut.   
  
"Would you like to lie down?"   
  
Rogue turned slightly at the gentle voice. She regarded the beastly doctor with a weak, unconvincing smile. "Ah'll be fine."  
  
Mr. McCoy frowned. Wearing a white lab coat and spectacles, he looked the part of physician. He carried a blood sample in his pawed hand. "Rest a bit on the cots, Rogue," he said. "You'll feel better laying down."   
  
She took the doctor's advice. On her way to find a bed she passed the glass doors that led to a room she had grown very familiar with. She had spent many a day recuperating with the presence of monitors, IV tubes, and crisply bleached sheets. Someone now took her place.  
  
Rogue approached with reluctance. The guy who'd tried to blow her up. The guy who had kidnapped and used her. And here she was, staring at him with strange fascination.   
  
He lay on the sterilized bed, tucked snugly in between the sheets. No trace of blood could be seen anywhere. His face was removed of the ghastly red streaks, gauze and tape covering the gash near his left temple. The bandage pushed back bangs that were too long to be gentlemanly. His face slightly frowned, eyebrows angled as though in pain or discomfort. Any other injuries were covered by the blankets.   
  
Rogue frowned, watching Gambit sleep. She was annoying herself. She turned to leave when he stirred, muttering something. She looked at him, leaning in closer to hear.  
  
"Julien...ghost...stop..."  
  
Julien. Rogue's hands clenched into fists. Julien. The bazooka-friendly "Ripper" who had tried to kill her and Gambit--on more than one occasion. She had taken a grim satisfacation from beating him up in that New Orleans jazz club. Her hands itched to do more damage. The creep must have come up north and sought Gambit out, cornered him somehow, and beaten him to a bloody mess. The coward. But who was this ghost?  
  
Footsteps. Mr. McCoy came in, reading a chart, and looked up, a little surprised to see Rogue. "I've come to check on his vitals," he said, moving around to read monitors and monitor readings. A graphite pencil scratched notes and numbers onto his clipboard.  
  
"Mr. McCoy," Rogue said. "Uh, he was mumbling something a little bit ago. Is he gonna wake up soon?"  
  
Hank pulled out a small flashlight and gently slid back one of Gambit's eyelids. A sea of black with orbs of red was revealed. He shined the light through, checked the other eye. "Hmm, looks like he's dreaming in deep sleep. Bodies sometimes react to stimulations of the mind. What did he say?"  
  
Rogue shrugged, "Muttered a few names."  
  
"Do you recognize them?" Hank asked. He knew of the incident from a few months ago, when Gambit had abducted Rogue and whisked her off to Louisiana.  
  
Rogue wondered how much she should tell. What if Gambit didn't want people to know. She shook her head and sighed tiredly, "Nope."  
  
"Well," Hank said, scribbling the last of his recordings. "He's recovering quite well. The sedatives I gave him should wear off some time this afternoon. I wonder what happened that would inflict such wounds. You saw him last night, Rogue. He would have bled to death had he not come to our doors."  
  
"Yeah, but why did he?" Rogue asked, puzzled now that the thought crossed her mind. "Ah mean, he is Magneto's guy, even though Mags is out of the picture right now, and we're still technically enemies."  
  
The doctor nodded his blue-furred head, scratching at his chin. "Perhaps he doubted the Acolytes would be of much assistance in his predicament. And he certainly would not want to go to a public hospital, what with all the anti-mutant aggression. And as they say, 'The enemy of the enemy is your friend'." He headed for the door and Rogue followed. "Very fortunate, that lad. And fascinating eyes, don't you think?"  
  
Rogue could not disagree. Ororo poured herself a cup of steaming herbal tea. She sat in her poised, yet relaxed, position in the study. That morning she had chosen to dress in traditional African garb, complete with headwrap. Tendrils of snowy white hair framed blue eyes and mocha-colored skin. She waited patiently.  
  
Logan repeatedly extended and retracted his adamantium claws, lacking the virtue Storm so effortlessly modeled. First out came three, then one at a time they slid back in. He cracked his knuckles. "What's taking Hank so long?" he grumbled.  
  
"Apologies, my friend," Beast said. He entered the study and sat in the couch across from Ororo. "But I am glad to say that our guest is recovering quite well. He should be waking later today."  
  
"Sooner the better," Logan said. "Then he can high-tail it outta here."  
  
Charles Xavier sat in his wheelchair, staring out the vast ceiling-to-floor window. He watched his fellow teachers by the reflection off the glass. "Do not be too eager to cast him out, Logan," he said. "If the injuries Hank described are that severe, I believe it best to keep him within the safety of the manor."  
  
Logan frowned, "Why? He's an Acolyte, Chuck. And you don't have to be a telepath to know it's makin' some of our kids uncomfortable that he's here."  
  
"We cannot simply toss him out," Ororo spoke up. She calmly sipped her tea. "This young man does not strike me as the mutant-terrorist type. He must have reason to follow Magneto."  
  
Xavier nodded in agreement. "The files we have collected on Gambit show he is more mercenary than fanatic. I have reason to believe that Remy LeBeau allied with Magneto in order to escape another, less desirable situation. And as for the matter of our X-Men, they will be wary to trust, but I have detected some have already taken to the youth."  
  
Logan grunted and rolled his eyes. Ororo smiled, "Jubilee and Amara were fighting over who would prepare him a meal." She smirked at Logan's look of annoyance.  
  
"A possibility has crossed my mind," Xavier said, placing the tips of his fingers together. "Gambit has skills and knowledge that could be of help to our cause. If he were to remain with us, join the team, perhaps..."  
  
Logan bristled, "Chuck..." He silenced himself when the Professor held up a hand.  
  
"...he would make a very helpful addition. Needless to say, Gambit may not agree, but I am giving him the option nonetheless. If he chooses to stay, I ask all of you to demonstrate acceptance and open-mindedness. Logan?"  
  
"I just have to say," the clawed man muttered, "that this is a bad idea."  
  
"Deftly noted, Logan. Thank you for your input."  
  
Hank smiled pleasantly and asked, "Should I send him to you once he's able, Charles?"  
  
Xavier nodded, "Yes, there is much I wish to discuss with him. Now, I don't know about the rest of you, but breakfast sounds quite welcome at this moment."   
  
Hank and Logan exited first, but Ororo lingered. Xavier sensed something troubling her and turned around.  
  
"Charles," she said, frowning slightly. She set the teacup down. "Evan contacted me earlier this morning."  
  
"Is there something wrong?" Xavier asked. Surely he would have sensed any harrowing toil, or at least had some sort of intuition about it.  
  
Ororo crossed her arms. In a grave tone she told him, "One of the Morlocks were attacked last night, around the time we found Gambit. Sarah, or Marrow, as we know her. Nobody knows how or why. Evan was out with her, getting food, when he said she began screaming and clutching her head. She collapsed and writhed for a long time, Evan said. Then she was...still." She shivered noticeably. "It sounded like a harrowing experience."  
  
Xavier had retreated to deep thought, not hearing her last statement. He looked at her with a furrowed brow. "I have a theory, Ororo, though I don't believe...Nothing is certain. We must consult Evan and the Morlocks to investigate this further."  
  
Ororo nodded and took the handles his chair. She pushed him out of the study and sighed, "I hope we get to the bottom of this, Charles. Marrow is not the first."  
  
"I know," Xavier said, frown deepening, "and I do not believe she will be the last." 

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Hey there. So things start happening in this chapter but more stuff in the next. RR, the input would be nice. I tried to do something that would seem like it'd happen, not like those intense romance things were Gambit falls for Rogue in an instant. I think it should take time, y'know?


	3. Nuisance

Hey, thanks for the reviews! People are so right, they help spur you on. If it's any consolation, I've already written up to about...I think five chapters for this story so you don't have to worry about writing delays--maybe uploading delays because my computer is just that messed up, but hey.

I wanna thank WerewolfLass for loving the story and for catching onto the title "Demon In My View" which I did get from Edgar Allen Poe's poem _Alone_. I like the words and it fits with the story because there are technically two demons here--Remy (note the references to his eyes and of course the mutant predator). This isn't a ghost story by the way.

**flowerperson**: don't worry, updates are coming and yeah, I do want to!

**Freak87**: I tried to write it well in a literary sense. I got really annoyed with some of the fanfics that have horrible grammar. Feels like when I'm reading it my English skills are deteriating (sp?)--not to insult anybody of course. That can't be good for that AP English class next year. Glad you agree with the Remy loving Rogue and vice versa bit.

**Turquoise**: Glad you think it's realistic, that's what I was going for. Plus, Gambit and Rogue aren't gonna hook up till very much later, but y'all see lots of interactions b/w the two. Hence the "tensions and confusions".

**ishandahalf**: I'm so glad you reviewed my story, seeing as how I love all of yours! Especially the ones with lots of angst. I hope you update Love, Lost, or Not at All. Dying to see how things unravel.

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**Chapter Two - Nuisance******

****

"Come _on,_ what else are you going to do on a Sunday afternoon?" 

Rogue rolled her eyes and slammed her book shut. She couldn't concentrate on _Interview With A Vampire_ when Kitty was constantly bugging her. "Ah told you, Kit, Ah don't need anymore clothes." 

"You can do shopping without, like, buying anything," Kitty said, smiling sweetly. "There's a thing called browsing, y'know." 

"Waste of time," Rogue said. "Can't you just read a book or something? Or what about your laptop, aren't there little programs ya wanna write?" 

Kitty scowled, "What do you take me for, some kinda, like, dork? A girl can only spend so much time staring at a screen." She grabbed her friend's arm and tugged her off the bed. "Why're you so adamant about sticking around anyway? I thought you said the mansion was, like, suffocating. I remember this argument! I kept saying how it was so big and you kept saying how you got claustrophobic in it and then I asked how that was possible and then..." Her run-ons trailed away as she eyed something sticking out of a journal sitting on Rogue's desk. She wandered over and pulled it out, a playing card: the Queen of Hearts. 

Rogue did not notice, having re-submerged in her book during Kitty's rant. 

"Oh," Kitty said with a sly grin, "I see." She waved the card in front of Rogue's face, watching the girl's pale skin blush a pink shade. "So, you're, like, waiting for Gambit to wake up?"  
Rogue snatched the card out of Kitty's hands and tossed it into a drawer. "None of your business," she said stubbornly, and returned to her book. 

Kitty squelched a giggle. She knew Rogue hated being teased, but sometimes it was a necessary evil. "You _know,_" she said, plopping down on the bed, "he _is_ very cute. Even Jubilee said he was the hottest guy she's seen in Bayville. And he, like, didn't even whisk her off to a different state." 

Rogue scowled, eyes still mulishly trained on her book. "He didn't 'whisk' me off anywhere. He kidnapped me for my powers." 

Kitty waved that fact away like a rank stench. "Oh, please. He could have taken Jean, who's a telepath. And I mean, she's, like, so pretty and perfect and--" She stopped as Rogue's scowl deepened, knowing very well of Rogue's like-hate relationship with the pretty redhead. "But anyway, he chose _you_, despite how you're kind of sour and bitter and mean at times..." 

"You're such a great friend, Kitty," Rogue drawled. 

"But you're really sweet, nice, and, like, likeable, too," Kitty quickly amended. She nudged Rogue in the shoulder suggestively. "Don't tell me you haven't thought about it. Why'd he give you the Queen of Hearts, huh? Why not a Jack of Spades or Eight of Clubs or something?" 

Rogue growled in irritation and playfully shoved the Valley Girl away. "Do you ever give up?" 

A giggle replied, "Not when the obvious is being missed." 

"Well, ya couldn't be more wrong," Rogue said, tossing her book onto her desk. "It didn't mean anything. Fact is, he kidnapped me and used me for my powers." The more she thought on it, the angrier she became. 

_Let me explain.___

___You knew we'd run into someone from the Rippers at the jazz club. You knew they'd come after you. And you'd knew Ah'd use my powers to help you. 'Cause you wanted me to absorb information! ___

___I'm sorry, Rogue.___

___You used me, just like everyone else!___

___My father's life was at stake!___

__Seeing the expression on Rogue's face, Kitty frowned. "You're really mad about that, huh?"****

****"Wouldn't you be?" Rogue challenged.****

****Kitty shrugged, "Sure, but you gotta see that he probably would've asked for help if he thought you'd give it. Right?" 

Rogue didn't want to think of possibilities. "Whatever, Kitty. Ah mean, what's the point of even contemplating this. Not like Ah can do anything if Ah wanted to." She stared at her hands, at the cashmere gloves. She looked up, surprised, when Kitty intwined her fingers through them. 

"Give it a chance," she said brightly. "And if, like, it's a no-go, at least you won't have those annoying coulda-shoula-woulda thoughts, right? I mean, do you really wanna go through high school without ever going out on a single date?" 

Rogue tore her hands away and crossed her arms, scowling furiously, "Oh, thanks for makin' me look pathetic, Kit!" 

Kitty lowered her voice in all its seriousness, "Special circumstances call for special relationships." 

Rogue rolled her eyes. "He's a thief," she said with strange resignation. "Been one all his life, part of some underground crime family in New Orleans. Not exactly the type of guy ya want to bring home to the folks." 

"You're talking to the girl who dated Lance Alvers," Kitty said, unfazed. "And, yeah, I know, like, that whole thing didn't go too well, but we're talking about different guys. What are you afraid of?" 

Rogue bristled, "Nothing." 

"He knows about your powers, obviously," Kitty said. "So that part won't have to be a skeleton in the closet. Give it chance, c'mon. I know you want to." She poked Rogue in the arm. 

"Cut it out! Look, he doesn't care all right? The guy's a natural player--calls himself the best thief on both sides of the Mississippi and the King of Hearts. Ah absorbed him--he's got one helluva ego. And just 'cause he was nice when we parted ways in New Orleans doesn't mean anything. Not like he ever called or dropped by." Rogue deflated and sighed. "Ah think Ah need a nap." 

Kitty growled much like an annoyed feline and snatched her friend, phasing them both through the floor and onto the first level of the mansion. They landed in the living room and Rogue snapped irritably at Kitty, "What the hell's ya problem?" 

"We're making him a snack," Kitty said simply, phasing Rogue through the wall to the kitchen. 

Rogue leaned against the counter and puffed at the stray lock of white hair that inevitably fell before her face. She watched Kitty look around the fridge and pantry, pulling out all the necessary ingredients for baking cookies. 

"Ya've got to be kiddin' me," Rogue almost laughed. 

Kitty only smiled sweetly, "The way to a man is through his stomach." 

"That work for you and Lance?" Rogue bit off. She wished she hadn't said it the moment the words came out. She flashed an apologetic look at Kitty, who had stiffened at the remark. "Kit, Ah'm sorry, Ah didn't mean..." She closed her eyes and clenched her hand. Why was she always so mean to those who cared about her? Just because she was having issues with herself didn't merit cruelty towards her friends. 

"It's all right," Kitty said, "I know you didn't mean it. Besides, I never went through the trouble of baking Lance cookies." She smirked and began mixing the sugar and flour. 

Rogue helped, smoothing in butter, more sugar, and vanilla extract. They worked together, making more than intended. The kitchen filled with the aroma of baked goods. 

Jean came in, rummaging around the refrigerator for the ingredients of a sandwich. "Smells good. What are you girls cooking?" She slapped mayonaise onto twin pieces of wheat bread, adding lettuce, various meats, tomatoes, and cheese. 

"Chocolate chip and sugar cookies," Kitty said brightly, pulling a pan out of the oven. She sniffed the perfectly golden-brown discs and began flipping them onto a cooling rack. "Excellent." 

Rogue had to smile at her friend's perkiness. She spooned the last of the dough onto a pan and stuck it in the oven, just as some of the others entered with intrigued expressions on their faces. 

"What are these for?" Sam Guthrie asked, reaching for a cookie. His hand went right through and he pulled it back in alarm. 

Kitty laughed, still holding the tray. "Fine, we'll let you have some, but don't pig out. They're not for you." 

Roberto peeked into the oven, noticing two more pans baking. "Yeah? Who're they for?" 

Rogue turned away, hoping Kitty would not embarrass her. She watched Jean place a readily prepared sandwich, an apple, banana, and glass of orange juice onto a tray, carrying it out of the kitchen. Hadn't they all just had lunch? Why was the girl so hungry? 

Kitty rolled her eyes, "Us, duh. Rogue and I were getting, like, so depressed with all the junk that's been going on. Figures we could totally splurge on homemade goodness." She swatted Bobby's hand away as he tried to grab a handful of cookies. 

Rogue took out the last batches and slid the cookies off. "Ya'll can have a bunch if ya do the clean up," she offered. 

The boys did not hesitate to take up the offer while Kitty scooped a batch of cookies onto a plate for the adults. She handed Rogue another plate with half a dozen. "Why don't you take some down to the sick guy? He'll probably love something sweet." She smiled and winked. 

Rogue turned away before Bobby, Sam, or Roberto could comment. She headed for the Infirmary, wondering what she was going to say. _This is not a big deal. Ah'm just bein' friendly to the house guest. Just bein' friendly._ Anything else and she was being foolish. She hardly knew that kidnapper, that Acolyte, that thief--the oh-so-charming, gorgeous thief with the entrancing eyes. Rogue realized she was acting like a stupid girl with a crush and quickly shoved the thoughts out of her head. 

The plate of fresh-baked cookies emmitted a pleasing aroma to the nose. She hoped they were good, just realizing she hadn't even tasted one yet. She entered through the automated glass doors, walked past the small observation area, and neared the room where Gambit stayed. She heard voices, wondering if Mr. McCoy was doing a check up on him. But as she drew closer, she did not spot a figure of blue fur, but a slender girl with rich locks of flaming hair. A tray of untouched food sat at the table. Rogue stopped. She listened. 

"Now, how'd X'vier find a _belle femme_ like you?" 

Jean noticeably blushed, holding her hands in front of herself modestly. "Uh, my powers were acting up and I was scared. I heard about his Institute for the gifted so, I came." 

The Cajun did not lose his flirtatious flair, despite the awkward bandage and pain in his sides. "Lucky place, dis is," he said with a smirk. "All de X-girls pretty as you?" 

Jean's blush deepened and she began fidgeting, though her facial expression remained calm and professional. "Well, depends on what your definition of pretty is." 

He chuckled deeply, looking her up and down, "Right in front o'me, _belle._" 

Rogue could not believe what she was seeing. She knew the punk was a flirt, a skirt-chasing lady's man, but with _Jean_ of all people? She was going to be sick. Jean, the thorn in her side. Jean, little Miss Perfect. Jean, who was everything and had everything... The least he could do was have better taste, goddamit. Her hands clenched the plate. 

"Hard question to answer," Jean was saying. "I mean, Jubilee's got those exotic Asian features and Amara is so sun-kissed with that year-long carmel skin and Rahne, well, she's so sporty and athetic and--" 

"'Nough said, _mon fille_, you're killin' an already injured _homme._" 

Jean looked flustered, "Oh, sorry. I mean, what? Nevermind. I better get going. I have to..." Her words trailed away, forgetting what pressing matters called for her attention. 

"What's de hurry?" 

"Nothing, just that, well, I shouldn't really be doing this." 

"Doin' what?" Gambit asked. An innocent expression sat upon his devilishly handsome features. His red on black eyes smiled while the curves of his mouth remained ever linear. 

Jean was growing more and more uncomfortable by the second, "Uh, you know. This, uh..." 

"You suggestin' somethin'...indecent?" 

Jean suddenly blurted, "I'm seeing Cyclops." 

He did not try to hide his amusement. "Ol' Shades? Lucky man, that _homme._ Guess w'all can't--" He stopped when a loud clatter caught his attention. Past the glass doors of his room a plate was shattered against the clean floor with cookies splayed around it. He saw a blur of a figure leaving the Infirmary. It seemed like a girl, a girl with white-streaked auburn hair. 

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**Minor Note:** Rogue isn't, like, heartbroken or anything. She's just irritated because Remy was nice to her, almost understanding when they were in Louisiana and she thought, well, she thought what any girl would think, y'know? And she's immensely irritated by Jean already and when she sees him flirting with her it annnoys the crap out of her. 

No love yet, sorry people. : ) But soon. 

And I'm curious bc whenever I try to view my own story, I can't see anywhere past the first chapter--anybody know why that is? Maybe it's the 24 lag of information showing or something. Huh. Well, at least you guys see it, that's all that matters. 

Keep those reviews coming and let people know!


	4. First Words

**Author's Note:** Ya know, it's really cool how people are liking this story. Its the third version of a Romy fanfic I've been trying to write and this is the only one that actually felt right. Glad people are enjoying it!

**Freak87:** Yes, Remy definitely should not be flirting with Jean. Ick. I have to wonder about those Jean Grey fans...**Shockgoddess:** Thank you, I try to stay true to character, not make everything go too fast--if there's no angst and no troubles, not very interesting, huh? Glad y'think it's "well-written", I seriously pride myself on my writing abilities! **Ms. Rogue LeBeau:** (cute penname) Happy to know you like my story! Here's your update! **flowerperson:** oh, yes, my version of Remy is a little bit of a jackass, but hey, he hasn't fallen in love YET and he IS renowned lady's man right? Aren't they all jackasses at some point or another? He doesn't mean any of it though. Jean is kinda pretty, I think, just not for Remy. Oh, yes, it's the medications. **Turquoise:** like how I made Jean shameless, huh? I figured girls don't ALL go giggly and blushy fr/ attention, and Jean strikes me as calm, collected, proud, so of course she'd keep her senses! **loneraven:** thank you, i'll try not to disappoint y'all

**Okay, more Romy in this one. But don't get too excited because, of course, there's gotta be obstacles along the way to make things interesting.** And God, I can't stand pointless, plotness love stories. Need the substance, y'know?

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**Chapter Three - First Words******

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"Seven mutants have been attacked, all falling into vegetable states. The first victim died," Hank reported. He flipped through the newspaper for the rest of the article. "There are hardly any witnesses but the few have described the same events--screaming, clutching at the head, trying to fight away an invisible attacker...frightening descriptions, Charles. It's possible we have a mutant predator on our hands, seeing as how no baseline humans have been affected." 

Xavier nodded, deep in thought. He turned to Logan, "Lead a few of our team out to the Morlocks once the sun falls. Darkness will be our cover so be discreet. First speak with Evan and then track down the other witnesses to gather more thorough information. Hank and I will continue researching here on the history of this. I believe the these attacks goes beyond spontaneity." 

"Got it." Logan left the room to pick out team members. 

"Storm, I'd like for you to visit the comatose victims," Xavier said. "The newspaper says they are kept in a mutant-friendly hospital down in Queens. Consult the physicians and find out all you can about their present states." 

Though Ororo would have much rather gone to see her nephew, she knew public relations was not Logan's forte. She nodded and exited. 

"Is this what I think it is?" Hank asked. 

Xavier shook his head, "I hope not. The first time I came across her was ten years ago. She shouldn't have survived. Come, let us consult Cerebro's database and see what we may uncover." 

The redhead had long since left. He was alone again. Remy looked at the digital clock near his call button. It was close to four o' clock. After eating some of his meal he tried to get out of bed but his body groaned in protest. He lifted the hospital gown, seeing heavy bandages in certain areas of his torso. Splashes of red stained parts of the white. His head also throbbed. 

He had woken up an hour ago, lying in the bleached bed, pondering. At first he could not remember what had happened or where he was. Then slowly last night's events returned to him. The heist, the ambush, the ripping pain in his mind and body. It was the pain that confused him, having come out of nowhere. There he was, surrounded by his lifelong enemies, and from seemingly no source at all, a wracking pain erupted everywhere. The feeling was familiar, though he couldn't quite place it. Not only that, but the image of a woman appeared before his eyes, a young one. Nobody else had noticed it, Julien and the Assassins only stared at him in confusion before taking advantage of his aloofness. But Remy saw her, vividly saw her spectral form floating before him, grabbing his head, paining him... 

He shivered now, thinking back on it. Had he lost his mind, seeing apparitions at such critical moments? 

The good, blue, harry doctor had come to him some time ago and done a regular check-up. He reported Remy's wounds were healing at a good rate. "You can walk around and such," Mr. McCoy had said, "but stray from vigorous activity lest you reopen the injuries. I'll have Jean fix you some lunch." 

Remy stood up ever so slowly. He let out a breath and walked around, baby steps. He needed to get out of this ward; he hated hospitals and hospital-like settings. After a while of searching he found himself some suitable garments and set out to leave the Infirmary. 

Rogue sat outside, under a slanted sun, but under the sun nonetheless. Her pale skin was vulnerable to its beating but she didn't seem to mind. Dressed in a black tank top and the same black dress pants, she sat on the patio and stared at the rippling water of the large swimming pool. It was peaceful out here, no X-Men running about freezing things or blowing things up or bickering. She could enjoy a nice late summer day and bask in a bright sun, staring at the waves of clear, chlorinated water--except she usually hated doing such things. But it really did beat being in the kitchen where Kitty was trying to keep the boys from eating up the last cookies. 

"I said, _quit it!_" Shadowcat snapped, grabbing the plate and phasing it through their hands. She held it to her chest possessively. "Rogue and I haven't even had a single one yet!" 

"Oh, come on, Kit-Kat," Bobby cooed. "We cleaned up your mess. At least give us some more." 

Kitty hissed vehemently and they jumped back. That was new. Glaring at them, she looked through the patio doors to where Rogue was lounging in the sun. She didn't know what happened. Rogue came back from the Infirmary with empty hands and went directly to her room. When Kitty followed she found the door locked. She didn't dare phase through and intrude if Rogue really wanted to be alone. Half an hour later Rogue had stripped of her sweater and was sunbathing, by the looks of it, and only the top part of her body. Kitty wanted to know what happened down in the Infirmary. She was heading towards the sliding doors, phasing right through the boys, when an accented voice sang through the air. 

"Mmm...dere still be baked goods here?" The Cajun walked in a little unsteadily. He had not changed into his regular clothes, but had found some scrubs and a robe. If it were not for the head bandage and discreet limp, he would have looked in perfect health. 

Roberto and Sam regarded him warily. Bobby offered a welcome, "Yo." Kitty looked at him, then through the doors at Rogue. 

"Ah, you're keepin' dem from me, eh, p'tite?" he asked Kitty, approaching. "Don't b'lieve we've been prop'ly introduced. Name's Remy LeBeau." He kissed her hand and smiled dashingly. The boys narrowed their eyes. 

"Oh, uh, I'm Kitty." 

"Spare a cookie?" Gambit asked, reaching for some. 

Kitty shied away, raising an eyebrow, "You just got a whole plate." She didn't really care about the cookies, more concerned with what happened. 

He shook his head, "All o'er de floor_._ Didn't get a single bite." He snatched one then as Kitty stared at him in confusion. 

"But Rogue took some down a bit ago," Kitty said, setting the plate down. 

Gambit stopped chewing for a second, red-on-black eyes flicking towards the dark figure on the patio. "Yeah, _p'tite?_ Funny, that." 

The boys took the opportunity and snatched some cookies. Sam said, "Kitty, Ah saw Jean come up with a broken plate and crumbles after you and Rogue went upstairs. Must've dropped them." 

Kitty sighed. So Jean was down there with them and seeing how Gambit was such a... _Great,_ she thought, _no wonder she's in such a funk. Jerk._ She scowled at Gambit who looked at her, puzzled. With an exasperated sigh she left the boys in the kitchen, thinking how insensitive members of the opposite sex were. 

"What's the pale _fille_ doin' out dere by herself?" Gambit asked. He opened the fridge and looked around for some form of liquor. Nothing but juice, milk, and soda. He settled for a can of gingerale and took a long swig. 

"Rogue?" Bobby said. "She's always in a bad mood." 

"Dat so?" 

Bobby rolled his eyes, "Well, not _always_, but she's never bouncy and cheery like some of the others. Think it's got something to do with her powers, you know, how she can't touch anybody." 

"Without sucking the life outta them," Roberto sighed. "Poor Rogue." 

"She wouldn't want your pity, _hommes_," Gambit said. He finished the gingerale and tossed the can in the trash. 

Sam raised an eyebrow, "And how would you know?" 

"Jus' do." 

"Yeah..." With nothing more keeping them there, the boys went off to do whatever it was they enjoyed on lazy Sunday afternoons. 

Remy was left alone in the kitchen. He stood in his spot, watching the Gothic girl on the patio. She was covered in all black upon pale, creamy skin. As if getting fed up with the sun, she slid her chair under the table umbrella and rested in the shade. So she had brought him cookies. How sweet. But why then did she not deliver? Remy allowed his eyes to trail along her profile, admiring the perfect curves of her lithe, youthful figure, her fair, poisonous skin. 

Poisonous skin... 

Remy frowned. That was it. Last night, the strange and sudden pain that had almost gotten him killed--it felt like being absorbed, it felt like the effects of Rogue's touch. But the ghostly apparition he had seen resembled nothing of Rogue. Could she have been there? Impossible. 

As if feeling his gaze, she turned and looked into the kitchen. Caught by the emeralds of her eyes, Remy stared back. He lifted his hand to wave but she stood and walked out of his view. Puzzled, Remy wandered out onto the patio. He saw her go around the mansion and enter through a sidedoor. She was purposely avoiding him. 

_Chere's still mad 'bout the N'Awlins inc'dent,_ Remy figured. He winced when he moved at a certain angle and moved the wounded flesh. Heading back to the Infirmary, he looked around for his clothes. They sat in a torn, mangled--but clean--pile on a chair. His trench coat was draped over it, freshly laundered. 

The blue, furry Beast entered at the moment, wearing a white lab coat and spectacles. He had folded items in his arms. "Ah, good to see you up, Gambit," he said. 

"Please, de name's Remy." 

Mr. McCoy nodded, "Yes, Remy. Well, I took the liberty of gathering some clothes for you. Your uniform has suffered too much damage for repair, I'm afraid. I estimated on the sizes, but I assume they're close to accurate if not right on the dot." He set the garments on the end of the bed and turned to leave, stopping just at the door. "Oh, the Professor wanted a word with you, but we are quite busy right now so it will have to wait. Do you mind lingering about in the Institute for a while?" 

Remy almost smiled at the thought, "Not at all, _mon ami._" 

Mr. McCoy nodded and smiled pleasantly, "Good. I'm sure the wait will not be too prolonged. Pressing matters have emerged that demand our immediate attention. Feel free to explore the manor." He left with a swish of the glass doors. 

Remy dressed slowly. The good doctor did not have so bad a taste in clothes. The loose, dark-olive cargo pants fit well, as did the black tee. He left his trench coat on the chair by his ruined uniform and departed from the Infirmary to explore. It was not everyday an Acolyte received such a chance. 

He wandered into the spacious foyer as six versions of the same kid went running past. Staring after the boy in bewilderment, he proceeded to assess the surroundings. A lot of space. High quality luxury, though simple and elegant. It became apparent that the Professor was not keen on meretricious decor. He went through several rooms, bumping into several mutants fooling around with their powers. When he became more familiar with his surroundings he was able to relax. Being in such a weak state among strangers caused him anxious stress. He liked to know the ins and outs of the environment. 

The first floor covered, he proceeded up the pronged staircase. Left or right? He went right, though it didn't matter because both prongs reached the same landing. He heard voices and saw the white-haired weather witch speaking to the stocky Wolverine as they walked down the hall. When they noticed him their conversation stopped. 

"Why, hello," Ororo said with a kind smile. "I see you are up and well. How are your injuries faring?" 

"Been in worse scrapes, _madame,_" Remy replied. "I'll manage." 

Logan snorted, "Just watch yourself, bub. If I catch any funny business you'll need more than bandages to patch up." 

"Logan," Ororo said with an exasperated sigh. 

Remy casually shrugged, disregarding the threat, "'Preciate de hospitality, _homme_. Wouldn't be right to muss it up, _non?_" He noticed that the two were dressed in crisp civilian clothes, ready to leave. "Goin' somewhere?" 

"To investigate a few troubling occurances," Ororo informed him. She turned to her teammate, "Logan, I have already informed Rogue to meet you in the garage. Do you know who else you'll be wanting for the excursion?" 

"Jean and either the Elf or Half-Pint," he said. "I think I know where to find them. If you see them first, let 'em know." 

Ororo said, "Will do." She nodded towards Gambit and followed Logan downstairs. 

Remy frowned curiously. What excursion was this? The X-Men chosen were no doubt picked for their powers. A telepath, an absorber, and one of two mutants who could easily escape unpleasant situations. Wolverine and Storm had not been dressed for battle--they were out to seek information. Remy suddenly felt restless, wanting to go with them. Wouldn't a thief come in handy at some point? But no, the pain in his sides and head demanded otherwise. 

He staggered down the hallway, a throbbing in his head not coming from the gash. It felt as though his mind had been picked apart and was struggling furiously to find the pieces again. He needed somewhere to lie down, a bed, a couch, anything. 

Somewhere in the dim corridor a door opened. Remy looked up, saw the captivating emeralds, and stumbled forward. 

Rogue cried out as she barely caught him. She struggled to keep him off the floor; he was heavier than he looked. Glad she had put her grey sweater back on, she leaned up against her doorframe for support. "Uh, Gambit? Ya all right?" She shuddered involuntarily as his hands held onto her for support, wrapping around her back and clutching her arm. 

"'Course, _chere,_" he said, wincing slightly. "Jus' need to lie down..." He tried to steady himself but almost fell over again. 

Rogue frowned in worry. She wrapped her arms around him, feeling his toned, lean torso. She swallowed and led him into her room. "You can rest here," she said. She helped him towards her bed but found her positioning was all wrong. She tried turning him around so she wasn't between him and the bed. "Just kinda turn...here, move your foot--hello, can ya hear me Cajun? Ah need to get out of the way, Ah--" She gasped when she lost her balance and toppled backwards onto the sheets. He fell right on her, pushing the air out of her lungs. 

Remy lifted his head as the throbbing lessened and pain resided. He realized where he was and decided it was quite nice. One corner of his mouth curved upwards, "Didn't ask fo'it but beats lyin' down alone, _non?_" 

Rogue stared up at him, completely entranced by his eyes. They were so dark and bright at the same time, the red and black contrasting each other in ways mysterious and enticing--demon eyes. Then she frowned, wondering if he was charming her again. "Get off," she said, without much force in her voice. Their closeness did not escape her attention. 

"But dis be so comfortable, _chere_," Remy said. He could swear her eyes were jewels, though he had never seen true emeralds that matched their depth. He traced the crown of her hair with a finger, brushing aside loose white strands. 

Rogue felt her heart pounding. She hoped he didn't hear or feel it. He was pressed so close she felt his warmth, felt his sculpted form through her sweater. She had a right mind to stay in the position but then realized the absurdity of it. She placed her hands on his chest and pushed him off enough to squirm out from under him. She landed on the floor, panting slightly, and stood, straightening herself. "All the nerve ya got messin' with me," she bit off. "Don't do that again." 

"Do what, Rogue?" Remy asked. He sat up on her bed, looking at her with a bemused expression. 

Rogue scowled at him and shook her head, "What_ever_." 

"Still mad 'bout de Louisiana trip?" Remy asked, running a hand through his hair. He brushed against the head bandage and grimaced. 

Rogue huffed, crossed her arms. There was something she had to be doing right now, but she couldn't remember what. Why did he have to be sitting there, in _her_ room, on _her_ bed, looking so damn good? Creep. She fought to keep her gaze off of him, focusing on the balcony doors, the floor, the fascinating simple designs of her sheets. 

"Hope y'are," he said. 

She regarded him with a look of bewilderment, "What?" 

"Y'heard me." 

Rogue released an dry laugh, "Ya _want_ me to be mad at you?" 

Remy smiled charmingly, "'Course. Was hopin' to take my sweet time cajolin' you, _chere_." 

Rogue stared at him, eyes narrowed. She watched him get off the bed, watched him approach and draw closer. She sharply drew in her breath. 

"I understan' y'still bein' mad, too," Remy said, putting his hands on her arms. "Hell, if I were you, I'd have at least hit me." 

Rogue swatted his hands off and backed away, "Ah just might, Gambit, so don't start gettin' fresh." She turned to leave but he caught her hand. 

"Sensin' some hostility, _chere_," he said. "Other reasons fo'it?" 

Rogue twisted her hand away and spun around, settling him with a withering glare. "Why do ya even care?" she demanded. "Seems like ya've got plenty of _femmes_ to keep yourself busy for a while anyway." 

Remy looked at her carefully, then said with a shrug, "I like bein' liked." 

Rogue didn't want to admit how much the remark bothered her. With an incredulous huff she stormed out the room, tossing over her shoulder, "Don't touch my stuff." She was gone the next moment. 

**----------------------------------Note--------------------------------**

Forgot what I was gonna say...oh, yeah, don't be mad if Remy's being a jackass. It's how he is before he really cares deeply. Remember, no super intense instant love here. Not the way I swing. And I like the line, "I like bein' liked." Don't you think it works nicely and just shows his point without being too dramatic? Okay, I'm uploading slowly to get the interest growing. 

Next Chapter: Death


	5. Death

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**Here's the next chapter!** I know you've all been waiting for it and I'm so happy about that! I didn't think I'd get so many reviews so fast but it flatters and spurs me on nonetheless. And wow, it does take a while to reply to all the reviews! Anyway, the stuff that happens here goes deeper into finding out the source of the mutant deaths. 

**Unrelated Sidenote:** I thought this was already discussed but **Mourning Bird** pointed out that my story title is also the title of author Amelia Atwater-Rhodes book "Demon In My View"--and that I got it from her, but that isn't true. **Werewolflass** and I know--it's all from **Edgar Allen Poe**. Man, I wish he was alive. I'd love to have a conversation with him. 

The title was derived from the poem "Alone" which I liked bc it suits the purpose of his novel and symbolizes Rogue's character in a way. You guys should read it off the net and see for yourself. (can you tell the whole analyzing literature thing has totally rubbed onto me). And I am NOT an Amelia Atwater-Rhodes fan. I read "In the Forests of the Night" and frankly, I thought it was too...new agey. The whole vampire thing would be cool if there wasn't such a focus on attacking each other's **auras...**and stuff--it's just weird. So sorry, but no credit to the girl. But I'd love to credit my favorite poet. 

**Ms. RogueLeBeau - **good! Glad you like it that way.**Turquoise - **Yeah, I tried to make the bedroom scene seem more realistic than hot and heavy immediate love. And Remy can be a jackass can't he? Don't worry, it won't last. He's going to start realizing stuff. **ishandahalf - **I'll update faster if you do, my friend! And I wonder what a bunny on crack looks like. Hmm...Glad you like the "I like bein' liked" line. It was so simple it's great.**Freak87 - **thank you. It flatters that you think the line works perfect. **Sweety8587 - **I hope I can keep the story going good bc sometimes it just spins to crap, you know? And the mystery behind the mutant predator will be revealed. Never thought about it, but a mental attack really would hurt, huh? I really feel for Rogue.**WerewolfLass - **I didn't know it was your favorite poem! But you WERE the first one to point it out huh. Isn't it great? My penname is Raven bc of his other poem.**pixie stix addict -** Yay that they aren't together yet? Haha, what? And hmm, I do not know this Malice character. Probably would have used her had I known...but oh well. My villain is made up. I hope it sounds true to origin--that will make sense soon.**flowerperson - **lord, tell me about it, my brothers drive me crazy, yes, definitely monkeys. And guys are jackasses, that's why we have to tame them until we make them crawl. Rogue's got it right, not taking in the Cajun's charm so easily like the others. That's why I admire the gal.**epona04 - **yes, a lot of ppl have thought "the whole intense attraction thingy" is too much, but I think it's popular bc ppl just love to see them together, you know? And I hope I do not disappoint when I get Gambit and Rogue to hook up--bc they do, unless anyone doubted, which I doubt! Oh, and I hardly heed other ppl's suggestions. I think it's some arrogant switch in my brain that just needs things done my way. Unless the idea is really really great, of course. **Shockgoddess - **I was going for amusing for the falling-on-bed scene. Thought it worked out a little TOO well, y'know? But then I decided just to use it anyway. And I'll try to update faster but my messed up laptop doesn't like the document managing page (explained at bottom). 

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New York City never ceased its activity and it never ceased to amaze the eyes that beheld it. Sometime after sunset on an unsuspecting Sunday, a sleek black van made its way along the streets of the Big Apple. By first glance the people within looked quite normal. A rather hairy fellow drove while a pretty redhead sat in the passenger seat, fidgeting with the dash. In the back sat a girl who looked like she had dyed hair and a pleasant-faced boy fingering a watch. Looks were always deceiving. 

They parked the van on a discreet corner somewhere in the heart of the city. Logan got out first, looking around warily in case of any possible menace. With all the anti-mutant riots and violence, he began exercising great caution whenever taking any of the X-Men out. Momentarily satisfied he wandered onto the street and lifted the lid of a manhole. 

"Your go, Elf." 

Kurt teleported into the hole and seconds later, the beam of his flashlight could be seen below. "It's all vight, come on down." 

"Red," Logan prompted. 

Jean focused on herself and Rogue, lowering them into the hole by telepathy. Once they touched down in the sewer Logan leapt down after them and she moved the cover back over the manhole. 

Logan sniffed about the surroundings, his nose leading them to their query. "This way," he said and flicked on his flashlight. 

The Morlocks were careful to keep their haven secret. Too deformed to pass as normal, too shunned to return to society, they kept to their own in the sewers of Manhattan Island. Rogue found herself growing sad whenever she thought of them. Sometimes her untouchable state seemed favorable to their self-confinement in sewers. At least she could walk around in the world without being pointed at and called monster. And she greatly admired Evan for giving up a life in a mansion to join their ranks, to aid them in any way he could with his powers. She could imagine him being a crusader for mutant rights in the future. He had the flair and passion. 

"Runnin' water," Logan cautioned as they turned a slimey corner. He led them through the underground labrynth until they reached a barred-off tunnel. Extending his claws with a _snikt_, he slashed apart the mess and pulled the metal away for them to climb through. They walked through a tight space that would have made Storm sweat and Logan located a secret latch in the side of the passage. He pulled it open, allowing Jean, Kurt, and Rogue to enter first. He followed and closed the latch. 

The Morlocks had created the passage to allow the X-Men to enter. They were the only ones who knew of it. If it was to be used, the Morlocks would know who came visiting. Logan headed their procession until they came into an open, cavernous space in New York's tenebrous underworld. 

"I'm glad you guys came." Evan approached them and shook Logan's hand. He then gave the girls a hug and shared a fist pat with Kurt. "Everybody's completely freaked about what happened to Sarah." 

"What did happen?" Jean asked reluctantly. 

Evan gestured toward a gathered group of Morlocks. Some knelt while others stood, worrying over a small figure lain atop a dais. Resting in such a relaxed position, she looked like she was sleeping. She had no protruding bones and showed no sign of her mutation. She did not look anything like Marrow. 

"I thought Marrow was supposed to have bones sticking out all over the place," Rogue said quietly. 

Evan nodded, "She is. But after the...attack, I guess her powers were drained." He appeared shaken by the memory, "I've got to tell you guys this..." He delved into the story of the night, describing in full detail the assault on Marrow. "It was like she was being attacked by something I couldn't see," he concluded. "I didn't know how to help her. One minute we're heading back here with food and the next she's completely flipping out...and I noticed her bones were retreating back into her skin...as if her mutant powers were just...sucked out of her. She was screaming like she had never been more scared in her life, batting away at the air like something was trying to get her. I don't understand it..." 

Kurt patted him on the shoulder, "Ve'll figure it out, Evan. Don't vorry." 

Logan headed off to speak with the leader of the Morlocks, Callisto. Jean grew antsy in the presence of such morning, feeling their grief empathetically. Rogue and Kurt talked to Evan. 

"Sarah's not the only one, either," he was telling them. "There are other mutants who were attacked and fell into a heavy coma, one they might not ever wake up from. It's like they're drained of so much energy they can't live anymore. Something out there is hunting mutants and nobody can track it. None of us can." 

"That's vhere the X-Men come in," Kurt said. He looked at his former teammate uneasily, "Uh, how many people were attacked?" 

"Seven so far, not including Sarah," Evan said. "It all started about two weeks ago. I can't say why." 

Rogue stared at him, face paling a few shades. Two weeks ago. Two weeks ago her psyches had started acting up, became bolder and more demanding. She remembered one's cry specifically, _She's coming! She's coming!_ A chill ran up Rogue's spine. 

Logan returned with his brow furrowed, "Callisto doesn't have much information. Nobody knows anything about this predator. But it only goes after mutants and it can't be seen." 

"Like a ghost?" Kurt voiced worriedly. 

"_No,_" Logan insisted. "Ghosts aren't real, Elf, you should know that. It's gotta be a mutant, and a messed up one at that." But he did not sound so sure as he bade Evan farewell and began to leave. 

They said their good-byes to Evan and left the Morlock lair. Back on the surface, Rogue was glad to be free of the tight space. She sat in the cozy van as Logan began driving to their next destination. 

"Gloria Ballucci is our first witness," Jean read off the X-Van's navigator screen. "Little Italy, Cha Cha's café and bar." 

Kurt shivered noticeably. He couldn't help but ask, "So vhat is invisible, attacks only mutants, and drains them of their life force and powers?" He looked at Rogue. 

"What?" she snapped defensively. "You think it's me?" 

"Course not!" Kurt said. "I vas just vondering, you know, since your powers are similiar, if you could..." 

"Offer some insight," Jean finished for him. 

Rogue bristled slightly towards Jean. The image of Gambit openly flirting with her still nagged at her comfort. "Sorry, Ah don't have any." She shivered again. Somewhere a mutant with powers like hers was attacking its own kind, stripping them of mind and powers. 

They arrived in Little Italy and found the woman. She described basically the same thing Evan did: screaming, fighting away an unseen foe, and sudden unconsciousness. The next witness described nothing too different. It was the third witness somewhere in the dreariness of Chelsea that spoke of something new. 

The woman was an aged hag, white hair falling in thin, wispy ringlets around her wrinkled face. She had been an actress once, a grand star on Broadway, but was now forgotten and cast aside for the young, the beautiful, and the avant-garde. But she was also a mutant, her powers having manifested uniquely at an old age. Her eyes were cast over with a light layer of pale blue film, obscuring the hazel of her irises. She said she had been gifted with sight, that she saw the flaws of their world where others couldn't. "I saw the fiend," she told them. "I saw her." 

"Her?" Logan echoed. "So it's a female mutant." 

The personalities in Rogue's mind were suddenly stirring. They tried to break free from her hold on them, shouting and crying in unwarranted panic. 

_Let me out now!___

___I won't stay here while she comes!___

___She'll take us, she'll take us!___

___Don't let her take us, she's evil!___

___She's coming! She's coming!___

__She massaged her temples and Jean cast a concerned expression her way. _Mind yahself, Red,_ Rogue projected. Jean frowned at her then decided to ignore the edge in her thought. 

"Not just any mutant," the old crone, Madame Tresallie Savara, said. "She is Death." 

Kurt exclaimed, "_Vhat?_" 

"Death," Tresallie Savara repeated. "She hovers before her victim, her chosen one solely able to see her, except for me. I have sight. I have seen her." 

Logan narrowed his eyes, "Oh, yeah? What's she look like? Is she cute?" 

"Logan," Jean cautioned. 

Tresallie Savara shook her head, missing his sarcastic tone. "She is a phantom, a semblance of a true form. Death feeds off life to exist." 

Jean frowned, "But none of the victims were immediately killed. They've only fallen into vegetative states." 

"And why only mutants?" Rogue asked, demanding. "What about all those regular people?" The voices in her head were making it hard to think, let alone hear. She forced them back, asking them, _How the hell am Ah supposed to figure this out if y'all won't give me some peace??_ That seemed to tame them momentarily. 

The former Broadway star shook her craggly head, "Death has no reason." 

"This is a waste of time," Logan grumbled and headed for the door. He ushered his team out. 

"She will come for you," the old crone called out. Her eerily ubiquitous blue gaze fixed on each of the X-Men, catching all four pairs of eyes. 

Jean, Kurt, and Rogue exchanged glances of uncertainty. 

"Death comes to all." 

"Then better watch your back, lady," Logan told her. "She might very well come for you next." 

Outside in the night the shadows seemed darker, more ominous. Any strange and foreign sound made Kurt jump and worried Rogue. Only Logan seemed calm as they boarded the X-Van. "Well," he huffed, "we're back where we started." 

"You're going to disregard what that woman said?" Jean asked. 

Logan narrowed his eyes, "That lady's not all there, Red. She's some weird-eyed fortune teller in Chelsea. You think that's a credible source?" 

Jean visibly shuddered. She hugged herself as the X-Van pulled out of Chelsea and headed out of Manhattan. "Just that, she seemed so serious, like she really believed what she was saying." 

"All the whack jobs do," Logan muttered. "But just to be safe, we'll run this by the Professor and Hank, see what they make of it. Hell knows I don't know what it means. Don't think I wanna." 

When they returned to the mansion, Logan informed the Professor on what they uncovered. "Death?" the Professor said, frowning. "How can that be?" 

"Don't know," Logan huffed. "The lady didn't seem to be all there anyway." 

Hank was already punching keys on the computer. "Hmm...Death, Grim Reaper, all the same. There are myths and legends revolving around death, but nothing that entices specific attacks on mutants. According to myth the Grim Reaper was a character that came to those who were soon to pass into the Underworld. He appeared as a bare skeleton, wrapped in a dark cloak and carrying a farmer's scythe." 

Rogue sat in the corner, watching the exchange. She found it interesting that Kurt, with his demonic appearence, was irked by talk of a ghost, while Jean looked calm and collected, no doubt analyzing everything through reason. Rogue turned her attention back to Hank's knowledgeable words. 

"...can't be because all the victims have been rendered into a comatose condition, not death. Though the rationale behind Tresallie Savara's claim may come from how she sees the attacker. A phantom, you said, Logan?" 

"Yep." 

They weren't saying anything helpful. Rogue sighed and hugged herself, staring out the window at the brooding night. She willingly listened to the voices in her head. 

_She'll come and take us._

_Let me outta here! I don't want to stay!___

___She's a vampire, a monster--just like you!_

_She's coming! She's coming!___

_------------------------------------------------------------------------_

**After Notes:** How's that to leave you guys? I think I've written up to the tens chapters but for some reason, my computer doesn't like the document manager page and sometimes won't let me get in--so bear with it, the chapters are there, just delayed. 

This is not a ghost story--can't remember if I mentioned that before. 'Cause why have supernatural stuff when there's already a world full of mutants? And this plot is a tad bit complicating so I hope it unravels in the way I want it to. Explainations are coming up.


	6. Next Victim

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**Yeah, another chapter. **I must be taking pity on your guys, uploading two in one day. Psh. But I figure since the last one had no Romy in it whatsoever, I should give you guys another dosage. Plus, no reviews to have to respond to!! 

But really, I love how you guys review--really appreciate it. Keep them coming else I might get down and stop writing. God, pray that doesn't happen bc once I lose the juice, it might not ever come back! Horrible. The story must be finished! Ok, just READ! 

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The quiet was beginning to irk him. He sat in the chair facing the Professor's desk, twiddling his fingers. The bandage on his head was no longer as chunky, but nevertheless there. He itched to just tear it off. 

"I apologize for the tardiness of this meeting," the Professor said. He smiled pleasantly at the newcomer. "Certain events have required my personal attention. I see your wounds are healing nicely, Mr. LeBeau." 

"Work of de good doc," Remy said. "And call me, Remy...sir." How was he supposed to address this man? He felt uneasy around such an eminent character. Professor Xavier's illustriousness stood on par with Magneto's notoriety, but Remy was more comfortable around the magnetic bucket head--at least he couldn't read minds. 

The Professor nodded in agreement. He decided to skip the small talk and proceed to business. "Now, I am sure you are expecting this, but I must ask how it was you came upon our doors. We found you in a critical condition and I am compelled to know why it is you sought us out." 

Remy saw his coming. He sighed, ran a hand through his brown hair, "Got m'self in a tight fix, needed some help." 

"What sort of 'tight fix'," the Professor asked. 

"Don't you read minds?" Remy frowned. "Why not just fish out de answers?" 

The Professor shrugged nonchalantly, "I could, but I choose to respect the privacy of others. I do not intrude upon one's thoughts unless they give permission. The most I can do at this moment is sense your discomfort." 

Remy raised an eyebrow and shrugged in return, "Guess I have no reason to be s'picious of y'intentions. Still alive and kickin', _non?_" 

"Indeed," the Professor replied patiently. They continued to stare at each other, Remy holding a scrutinizing silence. The Professor could tell he was not keen to trust and unconditional aid was something he was not accustomed to encountering. "I am only here to help you, Remy," the Professor assured him. "As I am here to help all my students in this Institute." 

Remy figured the man already knew a few minor facts about his past. If Magneto kept files regarding the X-Men, what would restrain Xavier from doing the same about the Acolytes? "I was workin' on a heist," he said. "Since Mags been gone, got a lil' restless y'know? People 'round places know 'bout how I used t'be a T'ief. De other night I got a call from a man, said his name was Theodore Farrat. Wanted me t'break into a pharmaceutical company and steal some drugs." 

The Professor's brow furrowed in curiosity, "What sort of drugs?" 

"Can't say," Remy shrugged. "Looked at de bottle but seemed jus' like a powerful sed'tive. Liquid, too, needs t'be injected." He looked at his nails, noticing they were dirty, and began picking at them. "N'way, got dere, got out, and was jumped by my ol' pals from N'Awlins. Don't know how dey found me." 

"Do you believe this Theodore Farrat informed them?" 

"Nah. Seemed like a random fellow tryin' t'get his hands on drugs he couldn't," Remy said. "Was holdin' my own jus' fine for a while, den somet'ing strange happened." He paused to think about it, then under the Professor's prodding look, explained what happened with the ghostly image he saw and the feeling of being absorbed. "Didn't last long, though. Julien an' his boys knocked me out and de last t'ing I 'member are red an' blue lights. Cops came and tried t'take me to a hospital but seein' as how I'm a mutant and t'ief, couldn't stay wit' dem." Remembering the experience only disturbed him more. He looked at the Professor, "Any idea what it was, Prof?" 

The bald man was in deep thought, eyes no longer trained on him. "Yes, that was how she did it, absorbed them, but she needed to touch..." he muttered to himself. He looked up, "You say you saw a...ghost?" 

"Wispy an' kinda smoky an' nobody else saw her, jus' me," Remy explained, recalling it vividly. "Looked like a young girl, Rogue's age maybe." One that had similar powers as her. "T'ink it's a mutant?" 

The Professor nodded, "One that I've had the displeasure of encountering in the past. But if what you say is true then this cannot be the same because she was a physical entity and required skin-to-skin contact, much like Rogue. Though unlike Rogue..." His words trailed away as if just realizing he was not alone. "Thank you for the perspective, Remy. I have taken consideration of your injuries and want you to know that you are welcome to stay for as long as you need. I am not soliciting anything, but if you were to feel...settled, know that there is room for you here at the Institute. And we always welcome a new face." 

"'Preciate de offer, _mon ami,_" Remy said, "but don't know if I wanna get tied down t'someone else's cause again." 

The Professor wheeled himself from behind the desk to the door, "Of course. It is, after all, only an offer." He smiled pleasantly as Remy stood to leave. 

Just as he was almost out the door he turned and asked, "Favor, Prof? If y'find out what dat t'ing was, lemme know?" 

"I intended so. This is a threat to all mutants. I'm sure you've heard about the predator out on the streets who only mutants are victim to." 

"All over de news, _frere_," Remy sighed. "Guess I was lucky, _non?_ I lived." 

The Professor frowned, "Yes, yes, that is true." He stroked his bare chin thoughtfully, "We must get to the bottom of this. May I come to you when in need of assistance, Remy? There might be other details that require your perspective." 

"Jus' holler," Remy said and left. 

Summer was steadily coming to a close. With only a few weeks left before school started most of the Institute residents chose to revel in the free time remaining. The weather permitted any activity their youthful hearts desired. Cool nights and seventy-degree days. The day was sunny without a cloud in the sky. 

The X-Men had gathered in the front yard for a game of ultimate frisbee, powers prohibited. Rogue sat at the water fountain with Jubilee and Amara as spectators. They made bets as to how long it would take before someone cheated. Only five minutes into the game and Kurt _bampfed_ from the ground to reappear in the air and catch the frisbee, then _bampfed_ back down. Like a catalyst every mutant began taking advantage of their powers. Ice and fire flew, multiples of the same kid cluttered the field, little cherry bombs exploded... Jubilee and Amara pouted as they handed Rogue five bucks each. 

As she stuffed the bills into her pockets, Rogue looked up at the sound of the front door opening and closing. Jubilee and Amara turned as well and immediately blushed several hues of rose. "Hi, Gambit," they called in unison. Rogue rolled her eyes. 

"_Bonjour, mes bella femmes,_" he said, smiling in the oh-so-charming, oh-so-irritating way. "And please, de name's Remy." He approached the fountain and continued to charm the younger girls while Rogue returned her attention to the frisbee game. 

Amara gazed at him, a young girl captivated by a handsome, red-eyed face. "Whoa, are those part of your mutation?" she asked innocently. 

"None other, _p'tite_," he replied, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Do dey scare you?" 

Amara smiled and her cheeks flushed, "No." 

"I think they're cool," Jubilee stated. She looked out at the field to where Scott was leaping in the air for the frisbee. "Wonder what color Scott's eyes are. Nobody's ever seen them you know." She beamed prettily at Remy, "But your eyes are probably cooler. Do you see red?" 

"Nah, not durin' de day, but at night, in de dark, 's like night vision." 

"Cool," the girls gushed. Jubilee seemed to notice that Rogue was actively ignoring Remy and elbowed her in the ribs, receiving a nasty scowl. 

"Reason why dis pale pretty's ignorin' me?" the Cajun asked the girls. 

Rogue rolled her eyes. Jubilee shrugged, "Don't know. Hey, Rogue, you're being rude to our sick house guest." 

"He ain't that sick," came the retort. 

"Ah, but I'm wounded, _chere,_" Remy said, grimacing in subterfuge appearance, but was truly pained by his side gashes. "Could use some lovin' durin' de healing process." 

Rogue snorted, "Looks like you're getting enough of that already, swamp rat." 

"Pet names now, eh _chere?_" he smiled in his debonair fashion. "Didn't t'ink we'd gotten dat far already." 

"Ah got other things to call ya, Cajun, wanna hear 'em?" Rogue glared. 

"Anythin' you say go'n' sound sweet." 

"Not the things Ah have in mind." 

"Wish y'could hear what I wanna call you, _chere._ T'ink your fair cheeks may pink a bit." 

"That'd only happen if ya pissed me off." 

"_Mon dieu,_ you're cute when y'mad." 

"Ya won't be thinking that when Ah'm through with you." 

"Naw, chere_,_ hope you'll never be t'rough wit' me." 

"Ya will when it starts to hurt." 

"Already does, _ma belle ange,_ already does." 

Jubilee and Amara watched the exchange in amused fascination. The two Southerners spoke quickly, retorting and replying as though the scene was rehearsed from script. When it stopped Rogue was frowning doubtfully at Gambit while he gazed at her easily with his charmingly demonic eyes. 

"Well, _that_ was interesting," Amara quipped. 

"Heads up!" 

An abused frisbee came spiraling their way. By reflex Gambit reached out to grab it and immediately wished he hadn't. "Agh," he cried out as he felt his stitches stretch painfully. He grabbed his side and fell to his knees, breathing hard. The frisbee fell from his hand and splashed into the fountain. 

Rogue stood up in alarm but Jubilee and Amara were already at his side. 

"'S fine," he assured them, waving them away. "Jus' a shock, dat's all." 

"Ya'll better get him to the Infirmary," Rogue said. "The blood's seeping through his shirt." 

"Why don't you take me, _cherie?_" he asked, almost a challenge. 

Rogue narrowed her eyes. Jubilee and Amara looked at her, then back at Remy. Both knew about the abduction to Louisiana but neither understood the present tension. Rogue had seemed a little cheerier than usual when she got back but that only lasted a few days. The girls decided not to get caught in any crossfire. Amara fished the frisbee out of the fountain and grabbed her friend's hand, "Come on, Jubes, let's join the game." They ran off. 

Rogue continued standing, rooted to the ground while Remy remained propped against the fountain rim. She wasn't sure what to do, what to make of the situation. Why was he so insistent with his come ons? Was she to take them seriously or regard it as what a flirtatious personality projected? An image of Jean-flirting popped up and annoyed her. She remembered extended periods of time on dark, sleepless nights that she spent staring at his parting gift--the Queen of Hearts. She had remembered his words... _You will be fine, cherie. Remember, y'got people watchin' over you..._ and was comforted. She was forced to hope upon hope that maybe she wouldn't have to be alone all her life, that maybe someone could care about her despite the barrier of her powers... 

"Kinda...in need of assistance, chere," he said, breaking into her thoughts. "Mind quittin' de oglin' for a bit t'help me? Not dat I mind..." 

Rogue glared at him, "Ah wasn't ogling you." And of course she had to hope on a thieving, skirt-chasing, swamp rat. Her own stupidity angered her. She pulled him to his feet, slinging his arm around her shoulder. She stiffened when he wrapped the other around her waist, turning her to face him. The scent of his light cologne and fresh-out-of-the-shower smell made her lightheaded. She avoided looking at his face. "What are you doing." 

"Enjoyin' de view," he said. 

"Ya're going to bleed all over my clothes," Rogue snapped. She began pulling him towards the door, acting as support and nothing else. 

"So y'are still mad 'bout N'Awlins," Remy said as she helped him into the mansion. 

Rogue snorted, "Ever think maybe the world doesn't revolve around you?" 

"'Course, 'cept when i'does. How 'bout I make it up t'you? Take y'out to dinner, buy you somethin' nice..." He almost cried out when he bumped painfully into the doorway. 

"Oops," Rogue said with a smirk. She helped him into the Infirmary but Dr. McCoy was nowhere to be seen. She settled him on the bed he'd been in before and looked around. "Take off your shirt." 

"Right to it, eh, chere_?"_ he grinned. 

Rogue fought to keep her expression unaffected. She would psych him out, act like she didn't care until he gave up pursuing her attention. After all, it was what the whole game was about--chase. She had absorbed him, just enough to get a glimpse of who he was, and knew enough to see he loved a challenge, loved the pursuit, and pleasured in reaping in the prize before discarding it. She had an advantage over his other hunts; she knew his ways. 

Remy sighed and pulled off his blue shirt. He seemed to call a moment of truce as he sat back and let her look at the stained bandages. "Careful, _chere_," he said. "'S tender." 

Rogue carefully peeled back the bandages, gloved fingers brushing against his hard abdomen. She drew in a breath, wondering if he noticed. Remy shirtless was much more captivating than Remy dressed. She focused on the nasty gashes and cuts on his side, at the stretched stitches. "Jesus, Cajun, what'd you do to deserve all this?" 

"I'll tell y' a story sometime." 

Rogue looked at him suspiciously, wanting to ask more. Instead she said, "Well, Ah don't think ya hurt yourself too much. Just need to change the bandage and make it tighter to slow the bleeding. I'll go get Mr. McCoy." 

"'S a simple job, Rogue," Remy said. He rarely used her name and when he did, she was annoyed by the way her stomach reacted. "Don't wanna bother the good doc for tedious tasks, non?" 

"Then do it yourself," Rogue bit off, ready to leave. Anger at her own foolish crush and his insensitive flirting was boiling dangerously close to the surface. She saw the puzzled expression on his face and was confirmed of her doubts. He was just playing the game. None of this was serious for him and she was looking like a downright bitch taking it to heart. As if any of this was personal. With a resigned sigh she began rummaging about the counters and cabinets until she found fresh tape and gauze. 

She worked wordlessly, taking off his stained bandages, cleaning the blood off, and wrapping fresh ones around his wounds. She never once looked up, never once noticed the way he watched her curiously, studying every detail of her being. When she was finished, she turned to put the materials away when he caught her hands. She swallowed. No hoping. 

"T'anks, chere. You really are an angel, non_?_" 

Her discomfort increased dramatically as he tugged her closer. She dared to look up, into his satanic eyes that were so alluring she nearly fell into them. Wasn't there more to this than pointless flirtation? 

_So, all this trouble and Ah thought you didn't like you father._

_I don't. Jus' because someone adopts you, doesn't make dem a parent.___

___Yeah._

_Mystique? Y'mean it wasm't her motherly instincts dat led her to take you in?___

___Let's just say it was my powers she wanted to nuture.___

___You an' I, we could write a book 'bout it. Been down de same roads...___

__Wasn't there greater depth to it all? Wasn't there an understanding? Compassion? 

His face was dangerously close, his mouth smooth-looking and kissable. 

"Can't touch me," Rogue murmured. 

"I find a way 'round it," he smirked, hand trailing up the length of her arm. 

So that was it. The challenge. The forbidden fruit that enticed all. Rogue closed her eyes and pulled away, hating him for ruining the moment with his impertinence. She put away the first aid materials, slamming drawers and cabinets shut. _Who am Ah kiddin'. This guy is all about sensuality. He needs touch._

"Somethin' de matter?" Remy asked, confused. He thought the situation had been going well. 

Before Rogue shot a witty comeback someone else interrupted them. 

_All students report to the planning room immediately._

Remy looked around in alarm at first, then realized who it was. "Professor?" 

Rogue nodded, forgetting the previous tension. "Yeah. He sounded urgent. C'mon, let's go." She helped him out of the Infirmary. 

"Two of the earliest victims have passed," Ororo reported. "The doctors said the coma grows so heavy and unyielding over time that the victims eventually fall to death. Their bodies no longer have the energy or sustenance to keep functioning, even with the help life-assistance machines." She crossed her arms, frowning worriedly. "The longer it takes to find the source of these attacks, the less chance the victims have of recovering." 

All the X-Men allowed her words to sink in. Gathered about the planning room and having been debriefed on the current situation, everyone was spooked. The beauty of the day and fun from earlier was soon forgotten. 

Hank sat at the computer, pulling up files and snapshots. "The Professor believes the attacks may be related to one particular mutant he encountered ten years ago." The large computer screen showed the picture of a beautiful, dark-haired woman. 

"Her name is Patricia Velkonnen," the Professor explained. "This is an old snapshot. She should be close to fifty years old now. She is a first-generation mutant, with the ability to absorb people's life energy and the powers of other mutants." 

Rogue felt a few eyes turn in her direction. 

The Professor looked more and more troubled as he continued, "But her powers were more of a curse than a gift. Her mutation required her to absorb the life energy of others in order to survive. She floated through Europe, feeding off anyone, anywhere--and those unlucky enough to experience her draining touch died within moments. After a while she began preying only on mutants because they supplied more efficient 'nectar', as she called it. Her methods of attack earned her the title of Wraith. 

"I was visiting Europe in the time her terrorizing was at its peak. Nobody knew who Wraith was then but I could telephatically sense a great disturbance in the psyche of Particia Velkonnen, the wife of an esteemed Austrian count who I happened to have befriended in my younger days. I will not delve into the unpleasant details, but with great struggle I managed to subdue her long enough to try and find an alternative means for her to survive. She fought back terribly, denying my entrance into her mind. She went mad, somehow starting a fire in the west wing of their manor. No one found any of her remains after the fire died out but there was no way she could have survived." 

Scott asked, "Then how is she the one behind the attacks?" 

"And the victims here haven't been, like, dying...right away," Kitty piped up. "It can't be the same person." 

"The ambiguity of the situation has not escaped my attention," the Professor said. "I have a feeling that Patricia Velkonnen is connected to this in one way or another, and though the victims have suffered different fates, the descriptions and method of attack are identical. However, it is strange that the attacks have been carried out by an unseen foe..." He scanned the room until he locked eyes with Gambit. "You described a ghost-like figure hovering over you while you were under attack. Did it resemble the picture you see on the screen?" 

All eyes turned to the Acolyte. He scratched his head and looked at the photograph. "Wasn't a whole lot of detail. De girl was real foggy, like smoke, but yeah, dere's a relation. But I don't t'ink it looked exactly like de woman. She was younger. Could be wrong, though." 

"Wait a minute," Scott said, turning suspiciously towards Gambit. "If you got attacked how come you haven't gone comatose?" 

It was the Professor that answered, "That has yet to be determined. Remy, you should consider yourself very fortunate. But for the time being--" The rest of his words were drowned out. 

Alarms had gone off, echoing through the planning room. The mansion was under attack from outside. The X-Men hurried out to the front foyer, gathering together in preparation. A lonely red figure had broken through the gate, dragging a tall, gangly form behind her. Scarlet Witch tossed her hexes at the mansion's defenses, barely holding them off until Hank shut them down. She reached the foot of the mansion steps and dropped an unconscious boy onto the pavement. 

"Lance!" Kitty gasped. 

"Help him," Wanda said breathlessly. "I didn't know where else to go." She fell to her knees, tired from physical exertion. 

Instantly she became surrounded as Lance was gathered up and taken to the Infirmary. "I--I don't know what happened," Wanda said. She was shaken, desperately hiding it for the sake of her tough-girl demeanor. "We were at the boarding house when he started yelling, fighting the air...nothing was there, he just kept yelling..." She shook her dark head. 

Rogue and Jean helped her to stand. Under the Professor's orders they took her to one of the guest bedrooms. He watched them go before ushering the others to return to their previous activities. Remy stayed at his side, running a hand along his forehead bandage. 

"Dese be scary times, _mon ami_," he murmured. "'S worse, since dey know the victim dis time." 

The Professor nodded, deep in contemplation. "We must find out why you were immune to complete absorption, Remy. Perhaps there is something we are overlooking..." 

"Hope we find out soon," Remy said, eyeing the forlorn expressions of the students. His gaze snapped then to Rogue, helping a shaken witch up the stairs. "Dis place, your X-Men, may be next." 

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Scared yet? Read this at night and get some chills. I sure did when I was writing it. 

Hope the exchanges b/w Rogue and Remy didn't seem too overdone or cliche or lame. Tried to go for the what-people-might-actually-say kind of feel. Always with the realism! 

**Next Chapter (just to make you guys nervous): Fallen X-Man**

God, I hate how I can't use asterisks. What's wrong with them??****


	7. Fallen X Man

**Hey everybody** - Sorry this update took longer than the rest of them, but my laptop was giving me some difficulties. Kept saying my file "didn't exist" and stuff like that. Made me freak out a good deal until I remembered I had backups on disk. Phew. 

Thanks for all the reviews and keep them coming! The more the better. I'm such a loser, getting such a kick out of reading them. : ) It's like a flutter in the stomach, makes me so happy. 

**Warning:** Updates may be coming slower bc since school's starting soon I'm going to be really busy and I have to study for these dang SAT IIs I have in October. Yeah, over achiever, I know, but I'd go crazy if I didn't prepare a little bit. Don't worry though, this story will not go unfinished. 

**Pyro-Panda, Karakin, enchantedlight, loneraven, epona04 **(I wonder what a happy dance looks like), **Weapon X 61--**thank you all for reading and reviewing and liking my story! It makes all the difference.** Freak87**: glad you think the Rogue/Remy conversations weren't overdone. I was kinda wary about that **azycat:** yeah, lots of people agreed that Rogue and Gambit shouldn't fall into intense love right away. And you'll see the feelings develop all right. **Zen Master White Dragon:** Glad you think it's enjoying. Thank you for the criticism. And Remy is a questionable character--I try not to be too mainstream, though it's a fear of mine. Yes, can't stand those thick headed buffoons. I love how your review is a complete paragraph! : ) Wish I had more of those. **Ishandahalf: **You are so enthusiastic, I love it! If you think you're Romy obsessed... And no, Rogue is not about to fall in love with Remy right away. Girls who do that are so typical and Rogue is definitely not typical. That's why I think she's so cool. Again with the bunnies on crack! **Sweety8587:** I was going to have them play football but that would have been too typical--and I love ultimate frisbee. At least Rogue realizes Remy's a player so she won't fall into his traps, right? Yeah, I felt like slapping the idiot over the head too. Lance? Lance? Can't tell you! **DumbBlondeBlue:** Captivating? Oh, I'm so flattered you think so! And of course I'm going to get the romance in--but entwined within the plot otherwise, there's nothing interesting, don't you think? Splendiferous, great word choice.** Flowerperson:** doesn't have to be scary, only if you draw yourself into it--and of course read it at night! I think I should recommmend that, the effect is definitely better that way. :)****

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The Professor and Remy spent a few hours locked away in his office. Everyone was told the Professor was trying to find out why Remy had not been reduced to a comatose condition after his attack. After strenuous mind probing the Professor did not find any mental barriers or psychic anomalies that could have provided immunity. It seemed obvious what they had to do. The Professor, Ororo, and Logan departed for Austria to meet with the Count Velkonnen. The plan was only to be gone for a few days but with so little information to work with, the students were warned of an extended absence. They jetted away from the Institute around seven o' clock, half an hour after dinner. 

Hank returned to the Infirmary to run check ups on Lance's current condition. He was in a coma, like the other victims. Kitty stayed by his bedside, watching as Mr. McCoy worked on him. 

"I'm afraid there's nothing we can do," he said, patting Kitty on the shoulder. "You can spend as much time with him as you like." 

Rogue stood in the doorway, watching the sad expression on her friend's face. Despite the breakup, Rogue knew Kitty still had feelings for Lance. It was a pity their relationship hadn't worked out. With a sigh Rogue left the Infirmary. She wandered through the foyer, to the rec room, but found she wasn't in the mood for speculating with the others on this Wraith character. Frankly, the knowledge of Patricia Velkonnen spooked her. Their mutations were similar, except this woman was unfortunate enough to need absorption. She needed to kill others to survive. Rogue could not imagine living in such a way. Now the voices in her head made sense. 

_She's a monster--a vampire--like you!_

_She's coming! She's coming!_

_Don't let her take us..._

Rogue wanted to know more. There was something about all this...why were her psyches acting up? How did they know about Wraith before Rogue herself knew? As if they could sense her, as if they knew she would come. Come after Rogue? Was she being targeted? But why, how, when? Nothing was certain. 

And then there were the eight other victims and now Lance. And Kitty. Poor, poor Kitty. Rogue clutched the sides of her head, the voices bombarding her mercilessly in their panic. Knowing the facts about Patricia Velkonnen seemed to have alarmed them even more. Their shouts came to a deafening crescendo. They were afraid; they were so afraid. 

_She's here! She's here!_

_She's come! Don't let her take us!_

_Let me out! I can't stay when she comes!_

_You evil monster! You'll let her take us! You want her to take us!_

_"_Chere? Y'all right, Rogue? Rogue!" Hands on her arms, holding her up. She was on the floor, she couldn't stop the pain. "Chere, tell me what t'do. Rogue?" 

Screaming. The screaming would never end. But then Rogue opened her eyes and realized the screaming was not coming from inside her mind. It was coming from the rec room. A sharp pang of fear struck as her breath came in raspy gasps. She looked up at a pair of red and black eyes, confused. Then she shoved Remy away, screaming, "She's here!" 

But he already knew. He looked in the direction of the cries. Then he turned to her, helping her to stand. "Y'okay?" he asked. 

"Forget about it!" Rogue exclaimed breathlessly. She swatted his hands away and stumbled towards the noise, the voices her head unrelenting. She felt his hands on her arms steadying her as they both burst into the rec room. At first she didn't understand what she was seeing. 

Bobby, Amara, and Ray stood by the large-screen TV in shocked fright while Scott and Jean tried desperately to calm a screeching Rahne. Rogue moved to rush forward but Remy held her back. "Nothing y'can do, chere," he said solemnly. His eyes were fixed on the scene, as if seeing something nobody else could. 

"Stay away!" Rahne was shrieking, flailing her arms and legs, clenching her eyes shut then opening them only to scream again in horrible terror. "Get away from me! Get away! _Get away!"_ Her once-soft brown eyes were wide like a rabid animal, gleaming with fear. She fought the air, trying to bat something away that wasn't there. 

"Rahne, please!" Jean pleaded. "Calm down! Rahne--" She gasped when the girl knocked her aside with a flailing arm. She fell against the edge of a side table, hitting her head. 

"Jean!" Scott left Rahne's side and helped the redhead off the floor. 

"I'm fine," she assured him, turning again to Rahne. "We need Hank. Get Hank--" 

Rahne's screams had suddenly stopped. Her mouth opened and closed in utterance of silent terror, eyes wide and horrified. She inched backwards slowly, whimpering, weeping. Her hands swatted at air and then she began to shake. She trembled from within, eyes rolling up in her head. For the longest time nobody knew what to do. Then with one final scream, she fell limp on the floor. 

Silence. 

Rogue reminded herself to breathe. Rahne looked so peaceful, like she was sleeping. She was no longer afraid. 

Amara suddenly burst into tears and Ray wrapped his arms around her. Bobby had disappeared. Rubbing her head, Jean crawled forward, calling out to Rahne but receiving no reply. She closed her eyes and summoned her telephatic powers. When she opened them she shook her head sadly at Scott. "It's like Lance," she said. "There's nothing in there. She's been drained..." Involuntarily her gaze flicked in Rogue's direction. 

The voices in her mind were silent. Rogue shook her head. "Ah didn't do it," she said. "Ah didn't do it. Don't look at me like that." 

Scott looked at her in confusion. "Rogue, it's okay. Nobody's blaming you." 

"What happened?" Hank demanded, entering the room with Bobby trailing behind. He saw Rahne on the floor, saw the frightened expressions of the students, and lowered his eyes sadly. "So it finally comes to us." He scooped Rahne up and left the room. 

_She will come for you,_ Tresallie Savara had said. _Death comes to all._

Once word of Rahne's attack spread, the amount of foreboding and dread increased until nobody could feel comfortable being alone. With the Professor gone, along with two members of the senior staff, the students felt more vulnerable than ever. How could they fight an invisible foe? How would they prevent another attack? 

Rogue locked herself in her room and sat on her bed, rocking back and forth with her knees pulled up to her chest. She felt connected to all this, like she had some answers. Wraith and her were the same, but different. There was an answer to this. 

A tap sounded, coming from the balcony doors. Rogue's head snapped up. She frowned at the Cajun who stood outside. She slid off her bed and approached the doors, not opening them. "How'd you get here?" she demanded through the glass. 

"Climbed from de roof," he replied with a shrug. He smiled as an offer of peace and tapped the glass panes, "Jus' t'see how y'were. Open de door, please, chere?" 

Rogue sighed and flipped the locks, allowing him to enter. As he stepped inside she walked around him, out into the night. She leaned against the balustrade of her balcony and stared at the sky. 

Remy raised an eyebrow, then followed. He sat up on the balustrade, tilted his head back to look at her. "Wanna talk 'bout it?" 

"What's there to say?" Rogue asked, not being able to keep the edge out of her voice. She felt tense. She was scared for Rahne. She was scared for her friends. And the voices in her mind would not leave her alone. 

"Y'were spooked, chere," he said. "Y't'ought somebody blamed you. Why?" 

Rogue looked down, allowing her hair to fall over her face and shroud her expression. 

"Don't wan' tell me, dat's fine," Remy said. "Jus' know it ain't healthy t'keep t'ings bottled up inside." 

Rogue huffed, "Oh, 'cause you're so open with everything." She heard him sigh in exasperation and turned to look at him. The familiar flutter in her stomach made her feel slightly lighter. Always this affect when she was around him, and she hated it. Hated it and liked it at the same time_. Remember he used you. He kidnapped and lied to you, made you think he cared._ But it was so nice to feel something, something other than the emptiness. 

"Feel like I should be explainin' N'Awlins," he suddenly said. 

Rogue turned away, swallowing. Did he have to bring it up? "Ya already did. Ya needed help that ya didn't think you'd get unless you forced it. Ah understand completely. Like Ah said, ya did the wrong thing for the right reasons." 

Remy sighed, hopping off the balustrade. He propped himself up by the elbows, standing inches apart from her. Wasn't he afraid of her skin? He looked at his gently clenched hands as he spoke, "Really was watchin' out fo'you. I saw what was happenin', chere. If y'didn't get away soon, y'were go'n' snap. Jus' turned out t'be a very convenient time t'whisk you off somewhere." He smiled crookedly, "Was fun fo'a while wasn't it?" 

Rogue rolled her eyes though she smiled inwardly. She was confused. During the whole time they were together on the train, during Mardi Gras, at the Bayou, he had never been so forward. He had never flirted or teased, just acted like a friend, which she had enjoyed...not like now when he would take any opportunity to make her squirm in her own skin. 

"We got stuff in common, you an' me," he said. "Don't t'ink I forgot our boat ride conversation." 

Fireflies. Darkness. The gentle lull of the water. Rogue closed her eyes, remembering it. _You an' I, we could write a book about it. Been down de same roads._ She immediately snapped back to the present and glared at him. "Ah don't know what ya're after, Gambit, but you're not getting it," she huffed. She turned to leave. 

"I saw her tonight." 

Rogue froze, slowly turning to look at him. "What?" 

"When y'friend was bein' attacked, I saw her." 

"Who?" Rogue was almost afraid to ask. 

Remy turned to look at him, his red eyes bright in the darkness. "De ghost. She was floatin' over her, holdin' out dose smoky hands...like when she went after me. 'Cept dis time, she saw me, looked right at me and laughed. She got one scary laugh, but she sounded like a young girl..." He shook his head as though confused by his own memories. "My only guess for why dis is? Maybe 'cause she tried t'get me but couldn't somehow, and now I can see her. Maybe she left a part o'herself in my head." 

Rogue returned to his side and clasped her hands in front of her. "Ah don't know what to say to that, Remy. Ah don't know what any of it means." 

"Scary stuff, non?" 

Rogue wondered if she could tell him. What if he thought she was crazy? But then again, he was confiding, he was offering her a disturbing knowledge. "The voices in my head," she began, "they...uh...they know when..." She closed her eyes, feeling them reel. 

"What? Can't be much crazier dan what I just told y'." 

"They knew she was here before Rahne screamed," Rogue said in one breath. "They were afraid of her before any of us even knew about it...like they can feel her or they just know her or--Ah don't know..." 

"S'all right, chere." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, felt her stiffen. 

"They're afraid of her," she went on, trying to shrug him off. He held on. "How are we supposed to stop her? Who's gonna be next, huh? What if it's Scott or Jean or Kurt or Kitty--God, we don't know how to stop her and the Professor and Logan are gone and..." She shook her head and stood still, ever aware of his arm draped across her bare shoulders. She felt his warmth through the sleeve of his shirt. 

"S'okay to be afraid," Remy said gently. "We all are right now." 

It felt so nice to be held. His warmth was contagious, flowing into her tense muscles, relaxing them, comforting. Rogue closed her eyes, forgetting about her skin. Suddenly it didn't matter that he had kidnapped and used her, that he was an untrustworthy lady's man. Maybe he was a good guy after all. Maybe he would stick around even after he healed, help the X-Men figure out all this craziness. Maybe... 

"Y'still mad at me, chere?" he asked. When she shook her head he chuckled, "Didn't take much cajolin', did it?" 

Maybe he would always be who he was: Remy LeBeau. Being reminded of that Rogue pulled away and moved back towards her room. "Thanks for checkin' on me," she muttered bitterly. She closed the balcony doors with a loud _slam_ and locked them before waiting for his reply. Then pulling the curtains, she lay on her bed and closed her eyes, disgusted. Her friends were in danger and she was wasting energy thinking about some guy. She buried her face in her pillow and tried to force sleep. 

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**Post Notes:** There it is, the first X-victim. So sad. Poor Rahne. Are she and Lance going to die? Why not, some of the other victims have. You must wait and see. 

This chapter was altered slightly when I went back and reread it. I made the Rogue/Remy interactions more platonic. You should have seen what I had earlier, jeez, almost made me gag. 

**Next Chapter **(coming in a few days)**: Unsafe**


	8. Unsafe

**By popular demand** here is "Unsafe"--comatose friends aren't the X-Men's only problems. And man, I timed myself writing this story, and it takes me about twenty minutes just to get a few paragraphs typed up! Does it take any of you that long? I think I focus too much on making the words sound right. Sheesh. Talk about tiring. 

**Flowerperson, Turquoise, Freak 87, Totally Obsessed47, enchantedlight, Blackrougefillie--**I hope I don't disappoint any of you with how I plan for the story to unwind. The plot only gets better from here on out. So much stuff is going to happen...I'm actually getting the excited shivers just thinking about it. God, I love writing. 

**Ms. Rogue LeBeau:** you won't be disappointed **ishandahalf:** interesting theories and observations concerning Rogue and Gambit **Karakin:** yes, they are perfect for each other and if any problems do come up, email me. Wouldn't want to deny a fan the product! **Sweety8587:** Your concern is touching--the "didn't take much cajolin'" line was jerksih huh? And don't worry, all the questions will be answered in due time** Pyro-Panda:** Dannii, interesting spelling. I'm glad you noticed how I tried to keep Rogue in character. Too often have I seen her resort to a puddle of mush over Remy and I just cannot see her behaving that way, considering her hard personality! ****

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He didn't sleep well that night. The ghostly woman haunted his subconscious, teased and taunted him. She said he was the first to get away from her clutches. She said he would be the one she'd keep after she was done with the others. He tried to run away from her, tried to fight her, but she was ever vigilant, ever escaping his attacks. She was not as frightening in his dreams for he could almost feel that there was something wrong with her. He got the feeling this was not a choice; her actions were not a choice, but a need. But then again, Wraith was a vampire mutant after all. When he finally awoke it was in the middle of the night and he was cold. He got up to close the window. 

_Damn,_ he thought, _all dis 'cause o' one stupid job._

If Remy could take back Theodore Farrat's offer, he would. He looked up, a thought occurring to him. He still had the bottle of medicine. Amongst everything that was happening he'd forgotten he'd managed to steal it. He grabbed his trench coat and felt around the pockets. He pulled out the bottle, rolled it around in his palm. It contained nearly six fluid ounces of sedative. Powerful stuff, by the looks of it. Why would a rich man like Theodore Farrat need a thief to steal some drugs? Why not buy some off or pull some strings to get it? The thoughts never occurred to Remy before, and now he grew suspicious. 

_Offered a handsome sum fo'it, too,_ he remembered. _Why, why, why..._ He never asked why, because it didn't matter. As long as he delivered he was paid and in the end, nothing else made a difference. Farrat could have wanted a biological weapon and Remy would not have known. 

He slipped the bottle into one of the zipper pockets and sat down on his bed. He would take it to Farrat once he was well enough. Remy felt the bandages around his torso, ran his fingers along the tender wounds. Julien and his boys beat him up pretty bad. They never would have done such a job if he hadn't been attacked by the ghost-girl. Everything ended the moment he was knocked in the head, the moment he fell unconscious. There was no more pain...why? Why did the ghost not continue to suck him dry? 

_Maybe she couldn't,_ he thought. _Maybe y'need t'be awake...a mind dat's active for her powers t'work..._ He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. He did not enjoy analyzing arcane things. Still, his explanation was better than no explanation at all. And what had Rogue meant about the personalities in her head "knowing she was there"? Was it by the same reason he could see the specter while nobody else could? It had gotten in his head after all, that night he was attacked. Maybe that was why he could see her, maybe for the same reason Rogue's psyches could predict her presence... 

_None o' dis makes sense,_ he thought in frustration. It was all a play on his mind. Not to mention Rogue's strange behavior whenever she was around him. He had meant what he said; he had planned on cajoling her to get on her good side. But all he ever accomplished was getting the brush off every time he got close enough to think he'd progressed. The girl was a strange one, despite her untouchable state. Women never hesitated to fall for him--it was his charm and allure. But this girl, this Rogue, she was a harder nut to crack. She acted like she didn't care...which was absolutely unheard of for Remy LeBeau. But he'd find a way to get around her iciness, sooner or later. Where was the fun if it was too easy? 

All he knew, as he climbed back into the bed, was he needed to find Julien and pay him back for the ambush. _Once I'm well, Boudreaux, once I'm well..._

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"Pietro, Fred, and Todd left town last night," Wanda was telling them the next morning. She looked strange wearing some of Rogue's dark clothes; everyone was used to seeing her in scarlet garb. Her hair was untidy as well, sticking in different spiky directions. She looked more punk than gothic as she sat at the table, sipping her coffee. "After what happened to Lance, they were so freaked they couldn't stick around, all thinking they'd be next. What a team, huh?" She rolled her eyes then frowned, "I really don't think it was a good idea for your professor to leave...I mean, look what happened to that girl...what was her name?" 

"Is, _is--_vhy are you using past tense_?_" Kurt scowled. "Rahne's going to be fine. She's just in a coma. But she'll vake up. You'll see." He stabbed at his cold, uneaten eggs. 

Nobody spoke much during breakfast. The usual frantic buzz of the morning had died to slow mumbles and hardly audible greetings. Heavy foreboding could not be denied as everyone wondered the same thing: who's next? Who would share Rahne's fate? It also did not help that Scott continuously shot the house guest distrustful scowls throughout the slow meal. Remy would only leer at Jean in turn, infuriating the X-Men leader. Beast walked into the somber kitchen wearing his glasses and lab coat. He looked as though he had been up since early morning. As he poured himself a large mug of coffee, he glanced at the students. 

"Cheer up, kids," he said lightly. "They'll figure all this out in Austria and everything will be fine. Believe me, the Professor has stopped Wraith once, he can do it again." His reassuring words helped a bit to settle everyone's nerves. With a small smile he left to return to his work. 

Tabitha suddenly slammed her hand on the table, causing everybody to jump. "He's right! We shouldn't be moping around like it's the end of the world. We need some serious distraction--we gotta get outta this mansion. All this is driving me crazy and makin' me wanna blow something up." She rubbed her hands together, exciting a few cherry bombs in her palms. 

"Tabby's right," Jean said with an affirmative nod. "What do you guys want to do this afternoon?" Her question received no reply. 

"Hey, Cajun," Tabitha called down the table. "You seem like a guy who gets around." She smirked at the few snickers that were expelled and rolled her eyes at Scott's father-like scowl. "Got any ideas?" 

"Sure I do, cherie," he drawled, "but I don' t'ink y'all old 'nough." 

Tabitha's rebellious nature was sparked, "Hey, nothing we X-Men can't handle. Know of a nightclub or somethin'? Strip club?" 

"Tabitha!" Jean exclaimed. The boys grinned. 

"Why don't we just see a movie?" Scott suddenly said. "That'll take up at least two hours of the afternoon and then you guys can figure out what you want to do _later_." When he didn't hear any objections, aside from Tabitha's annoyed groan, he nodded, "All right, it's decided." 

Kitty sighed and stood from the table, "Sorry guys, but I'm like, not really feeling up for it today." She left the kitchen, no doubt heading for the Infirmary. 

"Dat fille's really into de earthquake kid, neh?" Remy asked Jubilee. 

She sat across from him, subtly admiring the swells and dips of his face. She enjoyed the fact that he'd asked her. "Oh, yeah, I mean, they broke up and I'm still a little cloudy as to who called it off, but she's still into him. It's kind of sad really because I don't really understand why they didn't work out. They seemed to really like each other and..." She broke off when she noticed he was no longer looking at her. Following his gaze, she saw what had caught his attention. 

Rogue walked in, looking slightly bedraggled with unbrushed hair. She wore a grey T-shirt and black terry cloth pants and was not without her dark violet make-up. 

"Morning, sis," Kurt called. 

"Hey," she yawned. "How's Rahne?" 

"Same, still in a coma," Kurt replied. 

Rogue nodded. She grabbed a bagel from the counter, smeared cream cheese over it, and turned to leave. Her eyes caught the Cajun's for a second before she hurriedly left. 

Jubilee frowned at the obvious exchange, but she couldn't help asking. "You into her or something?" 

Remy smirked, "Depends what y'mean by 'into her', p'tite." He ignored Scott's glare from the other end of the table. 

"Do you like her?" Jubilee rephrased. She raised an eyebrow and returned his smirk with one of her own. "You two are always so...oh, how to describe it...there's this unresolved _tension_ and it was _so obvious_ yesterday at the fountain with that weird bantering thing. It's like you guys are--" 

"Don' even say't, cherie," Remy cut her off with curt a laugh. "Ain't nothin' go'n' on b'tween de river rat an' me. Jus' curious is all--but can't even be dat. She as cold as ice." 

"Can't argue with that," Jubilee snorted. 

Remy sighed, "Real pity," and received another withering scowl from Scott. 

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Rogue tore at her bagel while she walked towards the monitor room. Why did he have to look at her like that? She didn't want to remember last night or how she had let him touch her. She never let anybody touch her. She especially hated how she had acted weak and scared in front of him. She never let anybody see that side; she buried it along with the other things she didn't like about herself. 

Biting angrily into the bagel, she entered the planning room intent on researching Patricia Velkonnen. She turned towards the large-screened computer but saw Mr. McCoy already in the chair. He had pulled up several of Cerebro's files on the screen, as well as an Internet connection to a news channel. The rectangular window sat in the upper-right hand corner of the computer screen, a reporter by the name of Trish Tilby spouting away about recent events. 

_"The phantom mutant predator claims another victim this morning,_" the reporter was saying. _"Fifteen year old mutant Lorna Danes was put into a deep coma at seven-thirty AM while on her way to summer camp. Her electro-magnetic abilities could not save her from the attack."_ The reporter disappeared as two girls caught the camera's attention. 

_"We couldn't see what was doing it!"_ a girl shrilled through teary eyes. _"It was like an invisible ghost or something--and she kept screaming like she was so scared. I don't care that she's a mutant--she was my friend and nobody deserves that kinda torture!"_

Trish Tilby's voice-over projected, _"Some people, however, have different opinions_." 

A middle aged man stood on the corner of a busy street as the camera focused on him, _"If ye ask me, I say those goddamn muties deserve it! Somebody's finally puttin' them where they belong. Good riddance."_

"Rogue," Mr. McCoy said, surprised. He turned around in his chair, saw the expression on her face. "Yes, quite disturbing, isn't it? At least we know that not all people are so ignorant. Like this Trish Tilby. She is probably one of the most objective journalists out there, not a single hint of anti-mutantism in her reports." 

Rogue hefted herself up onto the counter and dangled her legs. "Wraith claims another one," she mumbled. 

Mr. McCoy had returned to the computer screen, "So it may seem...though I do not believe Wraith herself is responsible for these attacks. She has kept a very low profile over the years, if she is even still alive. And the Professor even said that Cerebro had not picked up on her mental signature, even whilst the attacks were occurring." 

"Wait a minute, Ah thought Cerebro could find any mutant when they were usin' their powers," Rogue said. 

"Technically, that is true," Mr. McCoy said. "Cerebro did not detect Patricia Velkonnen's specific signature, but it did pick up on one that was similar. Problem is, that signature was isolated, not belonging to any physical individual. It was our predator, that is certain, but the predator did not have a brain for the signature to be radiating from--it was simply alone. I cannot say why that is possible. It is almost as if this thing is..." 

"A ghost," Rogue said for him. She looked at him expectantly, wanting him to say she was wrong. How were they supposed to fight some demon that couldn't be seen? 

Mr. McCoy shrugged, "That is a possible explanation, though it lacks scientific merit. But there is something called astral projection. I have known a few cases where telepaths may project a semblance--or image, if you will--of themselves to do things and reach places where their bodies may not..." He scratched his chin thoughtfully before looking back at the computer screen. "That would explain why the mental signature was isolated. The astral projection is an individual in and of itself, floating in free space." 

Rogue noticed then that he had pulled many files on Patricia Velkonnen, along with several on her husband. "Can't imagine living her life," she murmured, and looked at her gloved hands. 

Mr. McCoy's large fingers swept over the computer keys. He uncovered airport records and boat manifestos, running cross references and searches with the name Velkonnen. "Hmm, curious," he said. "It seems like no one under the name of Patricia Velkonnen has ever set foot in the States, though she could have easily come in a private jet or under an alias... Still..." 

"Wait a minute," Rogue interrupted, frowning in bewilderment. "If Cerebro didn't pick up on her mental whatever, doesn't that mean Wraith's not here? Doesn't that mean she's not the one doing all this?" 

The blue beast continued to stroke his furry chin, "That is a possibility, but when dealing with mutants, and one that might be a strong telepath, not everything can be read through black and white. The cerebral signatures detected were not specific to Patricia Velkonnen, but they were similar. I must look into this further." 

Rogue shook her head, "What if the Professor went to Austria on a wild goose chase?" 

"The Count knows of their arrival. He will speak with them and offer any information he can. After finding out his wife was a murderous mutant, he was quite devastated, as you can imagine. Don't worry, Rogue," Mr. McCoy said. He put a hand on her shoulder. "The Professor, Logan, and Storm will figure all this out. In the meantime, don't worry about it. After all, worrying really doesn't accomplish anything." 

Rogue nodded. As she turned to leave she asked over her shoulder, "Do me a favor, Mr. McCoy? If ya come up with anything new about this Velkonnen woman, tell me?" 

"Happy to oblige." 

Rogue left the planning room, massaging her head. The voices had been stirring that morning but were not completely awake. Rogue hoped they wouldn't give her too much trouble, especially without the Professor present to subdue them. She didn't like the idea of having to run to Jean for help. 

After taking a few painkillers she went upstairs to change. She had felt so tired and lazy this morning she hadn't bothered earlier. As she walked into the room, she found Kitty lying in bed, back turned. Thinking she was asleep, Rogue moved around carefully. She pulled off her T-shirt and traded it for a black tank. Then she put on a black mesh top to keep her skin from being exposed. Only when she was brushing out her hair did she realize her roommate was making sniffling noises. 

"Kitty?" Rogue set her brush down and approached the pink-sheeted bed. "Kitty, what's wrong?" 

The brunette shook her head, burying her face in the pillow. 

Rogue considered just leaving her, but knew that was the wrong thing to do. She was not good at comforting people. "It's about Lance, huh," she said, eyes downcast. "Ah'm sure the Professor will find this Wraith woman and stop her. Then--" 

"Then what, Rogue?" Kitty suddenly exclaimed, popping up and exposing her watery eyes. "How will they wake him up?" She hiccupped from the sobs. "I mean, it's not like--like you can just stop the attacker and all the victims will magically be better. And some of them--some of them have died..." She shook her head, burying her face in her hands. 

Rogue reached out for Kitty but pulled her hand back. "Ah don't know what to say, Kit." Her eyes widened in surprise when Kitty threw herself against her, burying her face in her chest and crying. Rogue grimaced but then made herself hug Kitty back. She found it nice to be comforting a friend in need, one who wasn't afraid of her skin. 

"What if he dies, Rogue?" Kitty gasped. "What if they don't get back in time and Lance--Lance..." She shook her head and fought to control herself. "We left things badly when we broke up! I never got a chance to say...say how I was..." She continued to sob. 

"Don't think about that," Rogue said softly. "It's not gonna help any." 

Kitty drew in a shaky breath as she whispered, "None of us are safe. None of us. We can't stop this thing, whatever it is. It's like a ghost and it'll just take us when we least expect and we won't be able to stop it. Rahne was just, like, fine and joking around with Bobby when she started screaming. We can't stop this. It's not safe anymore...God, I'm so scared, Rogue. Rogue, aren't you scared?" 

Rogue swallowed, "Yeah, Kit, Ah am." But deep down, deep in her mind where the psyches were reeling with fear, something was telling her not to be afraid. An instinct in her gut told her she could fight this. She just needed to know how, when, and who. 

A sharp knocking at their door startled them. Rogue patted Kitty on the shoulder and went to open it. She frowned at the worried expression on Bobby Drake's face. "What is it?" 

"Mr. McCoy said to get Kitty," Bobby told her. "Her parents are coming to pick her up, along with Rahne's, Jubilee's, Roberto's, Jamie's, Sam's, Ray's--oh, and mine." 

Kitty wiped at her face and came to the door, not caring that anyone saw her. "My parents are coming?" 

Rogue frowned at Bobby, putting a hand on her hip, "Why?" 

---------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Over the course of the day Mr. McCoy greeted parents in the foyer of the Institute. When they saw their kids they clutched them close, looking them over as if worried about abuse. All of them had already met Hank McCoy and were not afraid of his appearance, though they did regard him warily when he spoke. 

"I can assure you all is being done to amend the situation," he told them. "The Institute is a highly secured facility. You will find no safer place for your children." 

Mr. Pryde looked around the manor in worry. "I have no doubt about the security of the school," he said, "but this is a _mutant predator_ and if Kitty is around a bunch of mutants, that only increases the possibility of her being...targeted." He shuddered at the thought. "No hard feelings, Dr. McCoy. I've seen the news. We all have and we don't believe it's safe anymore here." 

After Rahne's parents had been informed of what happened to her, they were eager to move her to a different care facility. Word spread quickly and now the X-Men were diminishing in numbers. 

Rogue sat at the foot of the stairs, watching the parents take her friends away. One by one throughout the morning and afternoon they left. She had said her good-byes and now didn't know what to feel. She couldn't deny how much she would miss them, despite all the times she didn't like how crowded the mansion was. 

As the last of the parents left, Mr. McCoy closed the door with a long sigh. Kurt leaned against the wall, scuffing the floor with his furry foot. His parents were in Germany; they did not know about what was happening in Bayville. Amara was a princess of Nova Roma; that remote land did not have the means of knowing what occurred in the outside world. As for Scott, Wanda, and Tabitha, they had no family to worry about them. Jean was a lawful adult and was under no obligation to succumb to her parent's demands of returning home. Rogue was glad she stayed, despite herself. Jean was a source of clarity and stability, no matter how much she disliked her. And Rogue, well, Mystique was not about to come knocking. 

She cocked her head in Remy's direction, where he stood leaning against the wall shuffling a deck of cards. She wondered if his family would worry about him. Jean-Luc was not the best father-figure, but he had to care even a little about his adopted son. Remy felt her gaze and turned to look at her. He winked and she rolled her eyes, wondering how he could be still be audacious at a time like this. 

"Well, X-Men," Mr. McCoy said, "I guess it's just us." 

"Vhat's going to happen now?" Kurt asked nervously. 

Mr. McCoy put a comforting paw on his shoulder, "We keep at, my young blue friend. Didn't you guys plan a movie this morning?" 

Tabitha, always filled with energy, clapped her hands together. "Yeah, let's go. God knows I could use the distraction right now. Who's coming?" She looked around, forcing a cheery smile. She finally wrapped an arm around Amara's slumped shoulders and gave the girl a squeeze, "Come on, it'll be good for you." 

The former princess nodded but said nothing. She was still haunted by Rahne's attack. 

"Just give me a few minutes to freshen up," Jean said. 

"Why ever for, cherie?" Remy asked, looking her up and down. "Y'look _tres belle_." 

Jean blushed though she tried to act unaffected. Scott glared at Remy, "Hey, do you ever quit it?" 

"Give me a good reason to, Shades, an' I will," Remy replied easily. 

Scott frowned, clenching his fist. "Oh, I'll give you one all right," he said, stalking towards him. "I am so sick of you hitting on my girlfriend." 

"Scott," Jean called, frowning worriedly. "He's just playing. It's not--" 

"Yes, it is," he cut her off. He stood in front of Remy, coolly glaring behind his rose quartz glasses. "He thinks he can waltz in here and do whatever, like he wasn't an _Acolyte_. I don't care that Magneto's gone, this punk is still the enemy and he's got some scheme in mind, I can tell." 

Rogue was growing more and more frustrated by the moment. She didn't understand why Scott disliked Gambit so much or why Gambit enjoyed messing with him. Her head was pounding, the psyches irritated from her discomfort. She hugged herself tightly, clenching her eyes shut. 

Remy continued idly shuffling, "I ain't doin' any spying for ol' bucket head." 

"Like hell you aren't," Scott spat. "Why else would you be here? You're well enough to leave--and don't give me any of that crap about how your side hurts or how you need Hank to examine you. You've got some hidden agenda--but hey, once a thief always a thief right? You're probably sticking around trying to find some vault where the Professor keeps the real goods." 

Remy stopped shuffling and turned to glare at him. "I don' see what your problem is, homme, but if y'wanna pick a fight, I'm game." He held up a card, charged it. It glowed menacingly in his hand. 

_Shut up, shut up,_ Rogue thought, holding the sides of her head. She wanted everyone to stop fighting. She wanted the Professor, Logan, and Storm to be home. She wanted Patricia Velkonnen to leave her psyches alone. She missed Kitty already. The voices were screaming louder than ever, feeling her frustration, anger, and sadness. She felt them rumbling inside, felt the psyche of one in particular, who especially missed Kitty and who was angry at being in a coma. 

"Boys," Mr. McCoy said forcefully. "This is not the time or place. We have enough to deal with already." 

"He shouldn't be here, Hank," Scott said. "You know I'm right. We can't trust some thief who'd work for a fanatic like Magneto." His hand rested precariously on his glasses, ready to lift them for an optic blast. "Get out." 

"Make me," Remy challenged. 

Scott stepped closer, ready to lift his glasses. "You are so going to be--" 

_"Stop it!"_

The ground began to rumble, the walls of the manor shaking. The hanging lights above vibrated haphazardly and flickered with disturbance to the wires. Remy uncharged his card and Scott stepped away as all eyes turned to Rogue. She stood with her hands clenched at her sides, face focused on the floor. 

"Rogue," Mr. McCoy called, trying to stay balanced. "Rogue, you have to stop this--can you hear me?" 

Suddenly her head snapped up, her green eyes wide and fearful as the trembling ground began to shake dangerously. "She's coming!" she breathed gutturally. "She's coming for us! She'll never stop! She's a vampire--a monster--like her!" She jabbed a finger at herself. 

"Chere," Remy approached. 

She slapped his hands away, "Stay away from her! She'll drain you like she did us! She's poisonous! She's evil!" Rogue clutched her head painfully, "Oh, the other one is coming. She'll take us! She'll feed off of us!" She stumbled sideways, shaking her head violently as the floor began to crack. "We won't be ripped away again! It'll kill us!" 

"Rogue!" Kurt called. "Somebody help her! Jean, do something!" 

Jean levitated off the ground, focusing her telepathy on Rogue, calling out to her mentally: _Rogue, fight them. You have control. It's your mind. It's--_ She gasped and fell to the trembling floor, shaking her head. "She pushed me out," she said. 

Rogue suddenly collapsed and the shaking ceased as Avalanche's pysche weakened. Breath jagged, she curled up into a ball, still holding her head. She squelched the urge to whimper. It had happened again. They had obtained control, if only for a moment. Hands pulled her gently up and she sagged against his chest, burying her face within the folds of shirt. Yes, this was comfort. This was what she needed more than anything right now. 

Remy picked her up off the floor as Mr. McCoy approached and felt her pulse. "Her heart is racing," he informed them. "Remy, take her to the Infirmary where I can run a check up on her, please." 

Rogue felt so tired. All she wanted was to sleep. She pulled at the shirt, trying to get closer to the warmth. But they had to know. They had to know what she knew. "She's here," she murmured. 

"What chere?" Remy asked, tilting his head down closer to her. "What'd y'say?" But Rogue was no longer awake. She didn't hear the screaming when it started. 

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**HATE to leave** you guys like this, but, it's a necessary evil. Maybe it'll give you all a little feel about what the X-Men are going through--Who's next? Who's going to be the next victim? 

Questions? Comments? Review and I'll answer! 

**Next Chapter: Empathy **

**Thanks for reading!**

**---Raven**

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	9. Empathy

**I am so happy about all these reviews!** You guys delight me to no end, honestly. This chapter we're taking a break from all the trepidation to explore a little interaction between our main gal and guy. 

**Ishandahalf, Blackrougefillie, azycat, Totally Obsessed47, eviltddy, flowerperson**

**Kendokao:** ooh, I am so flattered that you say "intriguinjg plot and excellent writing". I'm glad I haven't lost my touch after all this time. Yeah, I know, I really have to stop making Gambit flirt with Jean...and, uh, heh, it doesn't stop here. **Freak87:** very intuitive speculations there, my friend. You'll see in this next chapter. ****

**Zen Master White Dragon: **You really do sound like a Zen Master whenever you write a review. So sagely and full of helpful comments. Oh, yes, it is hard to keep the dialogue interesting and appropriate to the characters--but it's coming, oh is it coming. I'm glad you thought the whole Scott-getting-angry wasn't overdone. I've read lots of fics where it was and it kind of bothered me. I figured for my own fic I could make it the way I think it should be. Love your reviews--keep them coming!** Twin Pessimists: Faye - **thank you! Thank you! Believe it or not, I'm glad you got scared. Lol. **Marie - **I'm brimming with happiness from your comments. The chapters were coming as slow as they are now, but I think that's because it's getting all the more intense. Are you really twins?** Gren44: **I'm glad you think it's worth it. I'll keep at it then. Spelling, eh? Hmm, I'll have to watch that and proofread. **Sweety8587**: You just about sent the longest review I've gotten so far. Wow. 4k. And full of interesting theories and speculations, too. I just have to say, you know me too well. But I can't give anything away because the chapters are coming nicely and the plot is unfolding appropriately. But I'll just give you this much: you're not far from the mark, sweety.****

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She looked peaceful when she slept, when she did not try so hard to keep the mask on her face. The ever-ubiquitous scowl could not hold sway. Her usual layers of make up, no doubt put on to appear tougher, darker, and therefore stronger, had been wiped clean. Without the violet hues covering her eyes and lips, she appeared rather angelic. 

Remy could still feel her snuggle against him, remembered thinking how strange that was, when she had always been irritated whenever he was close. He sat in the chair, listening to the steady rhythm of her breath, the steadfast bleeping of the monitors. 

"Y're one troubled fille, chere," he said with a sigh. He could not imagine what it felt like to lose control of one's own body, not being able to touch. He knew he needed touch, thrived on it, prided himself at his dexterous skill with the stroke, graze, and caress of the fingers. 

Knowing she lived her days with harassment from multiple psyches only made him feel sorry for her. How did she do it? Where did she find the strength to keep going? With her untouchable skin, it was inevitable that she would become so introverted, so bitter towards life and those that would wish to be closer to her. She was afraid of hurting them. She was invariably haunted. 

"An' I t'ought I had't bad," Remy muttered. His eyes followed the curves of her face. The bridge of her nose, the domes of her eyes, the feathery lashes. Her neck was slightly arched as she rested on the pillow, revealing a throat of soft, pure skin and delicate collar bones that traced across to her shoulders. "I came t'a conclusion, chere," he said, knowing she couldn't hear. "You an' I, we ain't dat different--we kinda de same." He stopped as if waiting for her to reply with a witty remark. 

She continued to sleep. 

"Both have messed up fam'lies," Remy laughed dryly. He ran a hand through his hair. "Both used fo'our powers. Y'know how much dat sucks." 

She stirred slightly, tilted her head ever so subtly toward him as though agreeing. 

"Life's been hard on us," he continued, looking down at the floor. "People've dis'ppointed us so much dat s'hard t' trust, hard t'open up. But den I realized somethin': y'have it good here, chere. Dese X-Men, dey're y'fam'ly. Dey care 'bout you and y'shouldn't push dem away like y'do, otherwise, you really will end up alone." He sighed, shaking his head. "Sometimes, I wish I could have fam'ly again. Like back in de bayou before all dese crazy mutant wars started happenin'. When times were jus' simple, when Henri an' Lapin, an' I could jus' relax without t'inkin' 'bout all de guild pressures. We could jus' be t'ieves an' actually have fun wit' it. Ignorance is de best t'ing, neh?" He almost laughed at the absurdity of his wishes. "Think I'm jus' a crazy swamp rat, huh, chere," he asked. "Maybe y'right. 'Specially with dese useless thoughts." 

"No, Ah don't think that." 

Startled, Remy looked up and saw her green eyes looking softly at him. He didn't know what to say, confused that she was not glaring or scowling. 

Rogue closed her eyes for a moment before opening them again. They looked healthier after her long rest. "And those aren't useless thoughts, Remy," she said hoarsely. "Ah know how you feel, about wanting family." She sighed and looked around her room of the Infirmary. 

"You got it, chere," he told her. "All around y'. Granted, half o'dem are gone right now but dey'll be back." 

Rogue almost chuckled. "Would be nice to have a normal life, a normal family," she said, eyes closed. "One where you got outta bed every morning and went downstairs for breakfast cooked by ya mom and ya dad's sitting drinking coffee and reading the paper..." She smiled at the thought. "And maybe your annoying siblings would be running around. Then ya'd go to school, talk to friends--no fights, no weird looks, no save-the-world battles--just school and friends. Then come home, do your homework, maybe go out...with a girlfriend, boyfriend...whatever way ya swing..." 

"Always the femmes, chere," Remy smiled. 

"Yeah," Rogue sighed, thoughts still dwelling on normalcy. 

Remy raised an amused eyebrow, "Y'agree, chere? Didn't know y'were so open minded." 

Rogue smirked and decided to take the bait, "Who knows? Maybe if Ah didn't have these dang powers Ah'd be able to explore a bit." 

"Who'd you choose, chere? Maybe de bomb-happy blond friend of yours? She looks like de risky type. I'm gettin' lovely images in m'head." 

Rogue grabbed a pillow and threw it at him. "Ya dirty swamp rat!" 

"'S all in de biology, chere," he chuckled. He set the pillow on his lap, resting his elbows on it. "Normal life be good, non? Can't help but t'ink it'd get boring after a while though." 

"We just can't have it easy, can we?" Rogue said. "Everything's always so complicated. Makes my head hurt." 

"That'd be de psyches makin' y'life complicatin', chere," Remy said, frowning. "How you handle dem anyway? I'd go crazy." 

Rogue sighed, smoothing out her hospital gown. "Ah have gone crazy. The Professor helps a lot, with putting barriers up." 

"Why doesn't he just wipe them out? If y'don' mind me askin'," he added. 

"Last time he did that, it coulda killed me. Ah just remember wakin' up with a horrible headache. It's too dangerous, really messes up the neurons and synapses of my brain or somethin' or other." She shrugged as if that wouldn't have been a big deal. "But it was worth it just to be in control again. Sometimes Ah wonder if the Professor's ever gonna find a way to help me." 

"Maybe y'oughta help y'self, Rogue," Remy said softly. "Maybe de answer to y'powers is in you all along." 

"Then why can't Ah find it?" Rogue demanded. "Ya think it'd just come to me after all these years, after all the trying..." Her voice faded away as memories of hopes and disappointment returned. Times when the Professor thought he'd discovered the answer, times when she tried to touch but ended up absorbing anyway. She didn't think she could take another harsh thrust into reality. "It just wasn't meant to be and Ah've accepted that." 

"Y'just go'n' give up?" Remy huffed. 

Rogue frowned at him, "And what do ya think Ah could do that Ah haven't already? Ya think Ah _want_ to stop trying? Ah'd be living my life without ever getting close to anyone. Ah'd be alone--but it's okay 'cause Ah've gotten used to it. There's no point is hoping for something that's never gonna happen." 

Remy ran a hand through his hair, thinking about his family, his past, his future. "Sometimes hope is all y'have." He entwined his fingers in and out of each other, massaging the joints. 

Rogue watched him silently. Then she asked, "Why'd ya team up with Magneto?" She noticed him stiffen. "What, Ah can't ask you anything?" 

Remy smirked, "So, we playin' twenty questions, chere?" He was changing the subject. 

"Well if ya don't wanna tell me just say so," Rogue bit off. She pulled the sheets higher and crossed her arms. 

Remy looked up at the ceiling, noting that this girl was easily offended. Then he let out a breath. She had already shared a lot with him. "You've met my 'father'." 

Rogue turned to him, eyes questioning. 

"Jean-Luc tried hidin' how I'm a mutant. Didn't want people knowin' I was his secret weapon." He scoffed as if that was the stupidest idea to grace the mind of Man. "I was still strugglin' a lil' wit' dem, kinda hard t'hide how you're blowin' t'ings up after y'touch 'em. But Jean-Luc, he's a crafty one. Great wit' de lies, but not great enough. Dey found out, the Rippers--the Assassins, and jus' 'bout everyone else in our circles." His gaze turned hard. 

"Guessin' they didn't take it too well?" Rogue offered. 

"T'put it lightly, chere," Remy said. "Y'know how de whole race discrimination t'ing was so bad in de south? Well, kinda like that, 'cept dey hate mutants a hell of lot more. Dey say our flaw is more dan skin deep. And Julien hated it de worst. We've always been enemies but him findin' out jus'..." He didn't have to explain it any further and with a sigh finished, "Magneto was recrutin'. I joined up. Had t'get away from dat for a while." 

Rogue looked down at her pale, ungloved hands. She did not remember her real family. Irene was the only true mother she could recall without recoiling in disgust. She didn't even want to think about Mystique. She looked at Remy with understanding, "Trust me, Ah know how it feels. Ya think the world's ever going to change?" 

He shrugged, "De normal people have t'accept it, non? It'll jus' take a lil' longer than we'd all like. Sooner or later dey'll come around and realize we're jus' as human as dem, just better." He smiled. 

Rogue smiled back. After a few moments she looked down self-consciously. 

Remy watched her with slight amusement as she cleared her throat, looped white bangs behind the delicate curve of her ear. The silence that followed was comfortable for him but he saw her squirm on the med bed. 

Then she asked, "How long have Ah been asleep?" 

So immersed both had been in their talk that they had forgotten the present dilemma. _T'ink I need more o' dis,_ Remy thought. _Don' wan' think 'bout all de craziness happenin'._ He looked at the clock and said, "Been a day an' a half now, chere. You've been restin' up real well after the furry doctor checked y'. Y'were really beat." 

"Day and a half," Rogue murmured. 

"Y'hungry? I came down here wit' food." He gestured towards the untouched tray on her beside table. 

"Who was it?" Rogue suddenly asked, voice tense, eyes piercing. 

Remy scrunched up his face in discomfort. "Chere, y'really wan' t'ink 'bout dat stuff right now? Y'just woke up--" 

"Who was attacked?" Rogue demanded. 

He hesitated but finally said, "De Magma girl and Shades." He saw her skin pale a few hues and almost reached out to her bare hands. "Dey'll be all right. McCoy's takin' care o'dem." 

Rogue closed her eyes, feeling tears well up but not letting them fall. She quickly blinked them back. "Two of them? Two?" 

"An' I saw her again," Remy said somberly. "She went after de girl first, den Cyke when he was tryin' to calm her down." 

Rogue looked at him, suddenly afraid. "Why can ya see her?" she rasped. "What's wrong with you?" 

Her words brought to him an unwelcome memory. He was at a restaurant in the French Quarter, reaching out to grab a fork when it became charged and exploded. The waitress stared at him in horror, stared at his demonic eyes. "What's wrong wit' you?" she had gasped. 

"Remy--Ah'm sorry, Ah didn't mean... Ah heard them, the psyches. They got outta control because she was there, watchin' us." Rogue shuddered visibly. "Remy?" 

"Yeah." He wasn't looking at her. 

"She was _there_," Rogue said in an attempt to stress a point. "And you didn't notice because you were busy facin' off with Scott. But the voices in my head, they knew she was there, watchin' us like...like she was waitin' to make her move..." She put a hand to her head. "Oh, God, Scott and Amara...how's Jean handling it?" 

"T'ought y'didn't like her," Remy said with a smirk. 

Rogue frowned at him. 

"S'obvious, chere." 

"Ah wouldn't want her to be all depressed." 

"I know, jus' teasin'." 

"Now ain't the time." 

"Sorry. But Red, she's survivin'." 

Silence once again. Then Remy asked boldly, "Do'y' hate y'self, Rogue?" 

She stared at him, aghast. "What?" 

"Nev'mind." 

"No, why'd ya ask?" 

"When y'were...possessed, y'said t'ings. Talked in third person but y'were talkin' 'bout y'self. Called y'self poisonous, evil." 

Rogue didn't look at him, "That was the personalities in my head." 

"But do y'hate y'self?" 

Rogue narrowed her eyes at him. "Do you?" 

"Could never hate y', chere. Y'too amusin'." 

"Ya know what I meant." 

His gaze fell on his hands. He had no real answer and neither did she. 

This was as strange feeling, a sort of connection, of confiding. Trust? He had shared with her more in these few minutes than he had with people he'd known for months. Thinking back, he thought it strange how it started. He was not one to share so openly, only having done so when he thought she wasn't listening. How long _had_ she been listening? Oddly enough, he felt sheepish about talking to an unconscious girl. All the harrowing events of late had finally gotten to him. Maybe he just needed to get out of this place and go back to the base. Surely Piotr or St. John could amuse him for a while... 

"Remy?" 

He liked the way she said his name. He forgot all thoughts about leaving the Institute. "Yeah, chere?" 

"Thanks for bein' here. For talkin'." 

"Right back at y', chere." 

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**How's that to leave you guys?** No tense suspense like the last chapter. I got a comfortable feeling of solace after reading this part. After all the horrible stuff that's been happening, something good blossoms from the mayhem. Doesn't Remy actually seem like a _nice guy_ after this interaction? Yup, you suspected it, it's finally happening. Albeit, slowly. This isn't all that you're going to see. I'd like to say they're in the "friendship" level now--though there's always that sexual tension b/w them that's been there since the beginning. 

I hate spellchecking these documents because with all the "dat" "dere" "dis" "ain't" "y'know" etc, there are a million "mispelled" words in each chapter. Talk about ridiculous.... 

**Next Chapter: Austrian Hospitality - **You finally get to see what's been going on with the Professor, Logan, and Storm. 

Thanks for reading--Review! 


	10. Austrian Hospitality

**New chapter--the Professor, Logan, and Storm are in Austria and what happens to them is no less confusing than what the X-Men have been going through.**

I'm glad you guys liked "Empathy" and believe me, the Romyness is just beginning!

**Sweety8587:** Dang, I don't think I can keep up with you! I love your extra long reviews, so amusing to read. All those hypotheses you have are quite intriguing. But you'll have to wait and find out. I've already plotted out everything I want to happen in this story and I think you'll absolutely love it!--the mutant predator attacks mutants in its surrounding area--namely, the New York City region. **Blackroguefillie:** Oh, believe me, I am so writing another Evo fic. **Kendokao:** Yes, Scott is an annoying kid with a major stick up his butt--and do you know what's REALLY sad? Realistically, if I were to date a guy, it would be someone like Scott--lordy it's crazy! Hmm...can't say I know much about Anime. **Werewolflass:** I was wondering where you were, my fellow Poe fan. Vacation fun? **Gren44:** Yes, I figured we needed a break from all the tension--imagine if it was you, I know I would have cracked by now. Every chapter is a cliffhanger? Didn't even notice.

**Flowerperson, epona04, evltddy, Ms. Rogue LeBeau, Freak 87, ishandahalf, Totally Obsessed47, Shockgoddess--**I love your words; they spur me on. And I doubt you will be disappointed as the chapters continue!

I don't have anything against Austrians, it's just a title to a chapter! No innuendoes whatsoever. Plus, with the Austrian accent, dunno why I even picked this country--I don't know how the accent really sounds, I figure it's something similar to Kurt's? I was thinking Jean-Claude Van Damme(?) but I don't know how the words look. Whatever, right? And yeah, I know this is boring bc there's no Rogue&Remy but it's necessary for the plot so bare with me.

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"I don't like the looks of this place, Chuck."

Ororo glanced sideways at Logan with an amused expression. She continued to push the Professor through the lavish corridor of the Austrian estate. Her shoes clicked against the heated stone floors, the echoes nonexistent as sound waves were absorbed by the plethora of hallway embellishments. The stiff, hair-slicked butler walked ten paces in front of them, pointy nose held haughtily upward.

The Professor looked at everything with a familiar eye. "Why ever for, Logan? The Count only keeps objects of the highest quality."

"Fine, I don't like the _smell_ of this place. Somethin's not right."

"Yes, yes, I sense it, too," the Professor admitted. "Still, I have to say all these pieces of armor are quite fascinating."

Logan raised an eyebrow at the sentinel-like guards, nine on each side of the hall. He did not like the sharp weapons they carried. Each had a different one--axes, long swords, capiers, sharp-edged shields... Well, at least they were there if he needed to use them.

"Ze Count will zee you in here," the butler said. He stopped at a large, wooden door. He pulled it open and waved a hand towards the entrance.

The Professor thanked him as they entered. The chamber was large and spacious, a high ceiling held by columns that merged into the dome, wreathing together to the center. A sublimely crystalline chandelier hung from it, like the twinkling diamonds of celestial divinity. Its light illuminated the entire chamber strongly and did not glare. Unfortunate animals fallen to taxidermy hung upon the walls, over the exorbitant fireplace, and stood guard upon the floor. Hand-woven rugs littered the stone foot space in various areas occupied by furniture. At a secluded table near the fireplace, within the embrace of a plush velvet armchair, sat the Count Velkonnen.

Upon hearing his guests the man stood and welcomed them with a warm smile. He wore formal attire consisting of a maroon turtleneck under a black duster. In one hand he held a glass of wine. "Ah, Charles," he greeted, voice thick with an accent similar to Nightcrawler's. "It iz good to see you after all zese years."

"Armand," the Professor nodded. "It has been a very long time." He extended his hand and the Count took it. They shook professionally.

Logan steadily perused the room. He said under his breath, "Completely overdone."

Ororo scowled at him, "Behave."

"These are associates of mine, Ororo Munroe and Logan," Xavier said. He looked at the Count with a stern expression. "And as you well know, we have come to discuss Wraith." He used the woman's criminal name, lest the Count be painfully reminded of his beloved wife.

The Count nodded, face blank. He swirled the wine in his glass and took a slow sip. "Oh, how rude of me," he said. He walked over to large counter against the wall, littered with decanters and wine bottles. "Von't you have a drink?"

Logan growled deep in his throat, claws ready to extend. "The guy's stalling," he muttered.

Xavier frowned, "Armand, I would much rather discuss the matter at hand. There is immediate danger in New York. Mutants are being attacked, being put into comas from which they could die. If this has anything to do with Wraith--"

"It does not," the Count interjected calmly.

"How can you be so sure?" Ororo spoke up. "Our students are in danger and it is selfish of you to protect her."

"Ororo," Xavier shook his head.

"I see it in his eyes, Charles," she said, frowning at Velkonnen. "She is alive and he is hiding her."

The Count huffed and finished his glass, beginning to pour himself another one. "You Americans, cannot zee vhat iz past your noses. It is because of you that the fire came, burned her until there vas barely anything left..." His eyes were haunted, his voice strained and tight with emotion.

"Then she is alive," the Professor said calmly. He stared levelly at Velkonnen. "And if that is so then people are dying. Where are you keeping her, Armand? Why do you defend a murderer?"

The Count was not looking at him. He stared at the floor, swirling the wine in his glass around and around. Then he looked up, a fierce gaze in his icy blue eyes. "Does she not deserve life as well?" he suddenly bellowed. He smashed his glass against the stone fireplace, the wine hissing as flames licked at its flammability.

With a _snikt_ Logan's claws extended and he clenched his fists, "Watch it, bub."

"How typical," the Count glowered. "Zo eager to opine, zo eager to deal out death and judgment. Perhaps some things zhould be left alone? Perhaps you Americans zhould mind your own lands!"

"That is impossible when people are dying and the reason for it is here," Xavier said calmly. "If you are indeed keeping her here, how is she able to project herself to a different place, and only for her victims to see? Have her telepathic abilities advanced so much?"

Velkonnen shook his head, laughing dryly in cold disdain. "She is like a child. I vill keep her safe no matter vhat she has done. No matter what sins she commits. I owe Patricia that much." He turned to glare at them, pointing an accusatory finger, "And I zhall not have ze likes of you come to rid her of life." He snapped his fingers and before anyone could react, suited men appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

Ororo bristled and thunder clapped outside as her eyes began to cloud over white. As she raised a hand to strike the opposition down, a dart struck her in the throat. She gasped and clutched at her neck, pulling out the tiny needle. She stared at it before groaning and collapsing to the floor.

Logan leapt out of the way as tranquilizers were aimed at him. He tackled one suited man and knocked him unconscious, leaping away as another dove at him. His adamantium claws sliced through their guns, tore their uniforms, slashed their skin. One dart hit him in the arm. He growled and pulled it out, challenging them. "That all y'got, punks?"

The Professor turned towards the Count. "I cannot allow this, Armand."

Under his withering stare the Count felt Xavier's presence intruding his mind, poking and prodding for answers and knowledge. He did not do so gently and the pain echoed within the chambers of his consciousness. "Shoot him!" Velkonnen wailed and the pain subsided. He glared at Xavier's limp figure in the armchair.

Logan stood his ground, punctured by five darts. He stumbled woozily, stubbornly resisting the chemicals. Claws bared, he advanced clumsily. Another dart pierced his neck and his eyes rolled up as he crumpled to the floor. The claws retracted.

"Lock them up," the Count ordered. He rubbed his neck as his men moved to do his bidding. "You zhouldn't have come here, Charles," he said with a shake of the head. "If it vere up to me, zis would not have happened."

The room was vacant once again as his prisoners were taken out. The Count stood by himself and stared at the fireplace.

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**You guys aren't confused now are you?**If you are, don't worry. I've been careful to explain things in the upcoming chapters--I think. Granted you guys might have to deduce some things, read in between the lines, to get the full picture, but I trust your intelligence.

I've already planned out everything that's going to happen in this fic--ooh...I'm getting chills from the excitement. The twists and turns--and I try to stick with the real Evolution universe without altering anything (past events, characters, etc.) to suit my needs. Later on you'll meet a new character and though he may not be very well known, I love him nonetheless. Just a little teaser for ya, but don't speculate too heavily!

Onward with the angst, suspsense, action, and a whole ton of Rogue/Remy drama. Drama is the only way to make a romance amusing, right? But we haven't reached that point yet--first is the lighthearted friendliness. Coming up quickly!

**Next Chapter: Distractions** (Rogue and Gambit's relationship blossoms)

NOTE of Consideration to Readers: CHAPTERS ARE UPDLOADED OFTEN (2-3 days) SO CHECK FREQUENTLY TO KEEP UP TO DATE!


	11. Distractions

**I just have to say **that I am really happy about all the reviews I've been receiving. You guys are the reason I do this--many thanks.

**Totally Obsessed47 (**hope you had fun wherever you went**), ishandahalf, Ms. Rogue LeBeau, Karakin, Gren44 (**no worries, everything has been planned**), Weapon X 61 (**about time you came back!**), anda (**have a tissue and give me your email so I can tell you when I update**), enchanted light--**may your reviews never cease coming.

**Freak87:** Your review was one of the most fun to read, my friend. And you aren't lost--all that you said is exactly what's been revealed in the plot so far. See? I was right to trust you guys' intelligence. As for the six darts, it's powerful stuff, but that'll be mentioned later. At first I had it written "Logan and Ororo Munroe", which would have sounded even _funnier_ because Storm and Wolverine would have seemed--married. Which would be interesting because I think they'd make a perfect couple and neither have real love interests. I'm so glad Logan isn't in love with Jean in Evolution (God, can you imagine how _wrong_ that'd be?). **Flowerperson:** the character is minor in the X-Men universe but important here--you'll see, but sssh, no speculations--keep things more interesting. **Zen Master White Dragon:** Interesting deductions... And ah, yes, the frequent updates do please the public. God, I know about edanielrya and Seven Sunningdale (I am still waiting on "Love of my Life")! Glad you're not a fanatic groupie, I thoroughly appreciate your objective opinion. **Shockgoddess:** The description of the room was written at the kitchen table, with my brothers going crazy as my mother vaccumed and my father attempted to shift the positions off the living room furniture and cursing when his back hurt--ain't it funny? **Kendokao:** I want to reply to your speculations but am afraid it'll ruin the story. Lighthearted friendliness coming up with a few more scrolls of your window. **Sweety8587: **Your reviews are always a pleasure to read--so long, so thorough and contemplative, so fun! And as I said to kendakao, I wish I could reply to all your musings, but can't, lest the story be ruined. And none of us want that! What life in deed, it would be an incredibly sad way to live. **Silky black:** You know what, when I was reading your review, I was reminded of Kitty Pryde. That was a fun few seconds. I'm so flattered that you think this is like psych thriller! That never occurred to me but now that you say it, I have to agree. Dracula, hmm? Ya know what, I was actually picturing the guy from _The Count of Monte Cristo_, when he's all dolled up as a rich Count with the beard and robe and stuff--that was my Armand, but hey, your's works too. Love your energy. **Allie:** You see, more people have to be like you and read this at night, in the dark. Far more effective that way. That's when I write it, for the most part, and it works wonders. Darkness and storms, huh. I'm so glad you're getting a creepy feeling--that means the story is working! **SickmindedSucker:** interesting penname choice, definitely demands a second look. Yes, the situation does suck major ass. Hate to be with the Prof, Storm, and Logan--but then again, it does seem favorable to other situation. As for putting ol' Scottie in a coma--he had it coming. Love Kudos--great and _different?_--thank you. I try not to be mainstream. **DumbBlondeBlue:** But how does the Austrian accent _look_ when typed out?

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**Another break from tension** to explore the advancement of Rogue and Gambit's relationship. We know they fall in love in just about every X-Men universe, but the romance received mere hints in Evolution. Here is my version and I pray it feels realistic.

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Hank spent much of his time in the Infirmary. His patients were constantly being monitored. Any changes in their conditions were recorded and examined, but none were drastic enough to invoke any hope. He paid close attention to Lance, who was the earliest victim and most susceptible to the next stage of the coma. As much as it might become a fact for them, nobody wished to think about the horrible possibilities.

Rogue visited the Infirmary once a day and every time found Jean sitting at Scott's beside. She felt uncomfortable around the redhead and often retreated when she was there. Other times she stayed, read a few pages of _Interview With A Vampire_ to Amara or held the phone to Lance's ear so Kitty could say things to him.

Despite how the Institute was given a few days of peace, the outside world was denied that comfort. Mutant attacks were reported in the surrounding area--Westchester, Brooklyn, Staten Island. All the victims suffered the same fate, exhibited the same behavior before falling to coma. Some died within hours of their condition while others continued in sleep-like states.

The new developments were worrisome and puzzling. Hank began compiling facts and figures on each and every victim. After spending a reasonable amount of time analyzing the information, he came to a conclusion: The more powerful the mutant, the longer he or she could sustain their body in the comatose state after their powers were drained. Unfortunately, some of the victims had barely begun to realize their gifts before they were taken away, and thus, perished quickly. The X-Men had some comfort. Their friends had practiced using their powers, trained with them through vigorous hours, used them to fight for their lives. Wouldn't they be considered strong, powerful? Wouldn't they have a greater chance of surviving?

"They'll be fine," Kurt was adamant to believe. He sat on the couch, flipping channels on the television. "The Professor, Logan, and Storm vill fix all of this."

Rogue was growing restless. She paced the rec room, clenching and unclenching her hands. "How can you just..._sit_ there, Kurt? Aren't you getting sick of the waiting? Maybe we should try helping them instead of being so useless."

"And how vill ve do that?" Kurt asked rhetorically.

Wanda and Tabitha were playing pool, the sounds of knocking balls mingling with voices and noise from the TV. "I'd sure like to get some action," Tabitha said. She chalked the end of her cue stick and knocked another ball into a hole. "All this tension is going to make my head crack."

"This predator's gonna crack your head first," Wanda gritted bitterly. "We can't stop it. We don't even know what the hell it is. After it's done with the city it'll come back here. You all know it." Her cue stick began glowing with blue energy. "I can't stand just--" She let out an angry cry and tossed the hexed pole away. As she stomped out of the room, the stick bounced and whipped about dangerously before falling lifeless on the floor.

Rogue picked it up and set it on the pool table. She looked at Tabitha who did not meet her gaze. Kurt remained rigidly focused on a Chex Mix commericial. The uneventfulness of the past few days was getting to them all, the waiting a horrible torture. At the same time Rogue was relieved; her psyches had not been acting up lately, which meant Wraith was probably no where near. She could feel safe for the time being.

_Kinda like my own spider sense,_ Rogue thought in amusement.

"Ah'm gonna have a run in the Danger Room," she said suddenly.

Kurt's yellow eyes frowned at her, "Villingly? All this _has_ to be getting too you, sis."

"Would you rather Ah let out some steam on you?" Rogue shot back.

The three-fingered boy returned to watching TV and Rogue left the room.

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This was exactly what she needed. The adrenaline, the rush, the bodily exertion. Her lithe muscles tensed and relaxed for her movements. She leapt into a back flip, deftly dodging the rays of a laser cannon. When she landed on her feet she heard the _zing!_ of razor discs being dispatched from crevices in the Danger Room wall. She ducked the one aimed at her head, twisted away from the second, and leapt over the third. She landed on her feet, knees bent, hands on the ground. "End Simulation!" she shouted, and the weapons ceased their active stances, retreating into the walls.

Rogue walked over to the doors and picked up her towel. As she patted it against her face she closed her eyes and breathed sensually. Her increased heart rate pounded in her ears, drowning out any troubling thoughts. As she stretched out her now-relaxed muscles, she felt much better.

"So dis is de famous Danger Room..." A low whistle echoed along the walls of the spacious chamber.

Rogue hadn't noticed the doors open. She turned and scowled at the Cajun as he entered unbidden, admiring the technology before him. "Don't ya ever knock?"

"Y'talkin' to a t'ief, chere," Remy said with a light chuckle. He ran the tip of his toe over the stainless steel floor. "Spared no expense, neh? How much clout does dis Professor have anyway?"

Rogue smirked, "Ah'm being asked by a thief?"

Remy favored her with an innocent smile, his crimson-ebony eyes twinkling subtly. "I see how t'is. Well, in dat case, why don' y'show me jus' how well de good Prof invested his money?"

"Ya wanna test the Danger Room?" Rogue asked. "It ain't a walk in the park."

"An' I ain't an amateur," Remy replied. He shrugged off his trench coat, tossing it beside her things against the wall. "Let's see how much fun y'an' I can have, eh, chere?" He walked out into the center of the chamber and grinned mischievously.

Rogue narrowed her eyes at him, wondering why he was doing this. He wasn't exactly dressed for combat in those loose jeans and maroon shirt, not to mention his wounds. "And what about those injuires?"

"I'll deal."

Rogue frowned at his apathy towards the subject. Whether he cared about his well-being or not, she didn't feel like hauling a bleeding Gambit back to the Infirmary. She sighed, "You should at least change. Hate ta see ya trip over those pants." She almost laughed at the thought of the smooth-talking Cajun falling flat on his face.

"Rogue, Rogue, Rogue," he chided in a sing-song voice, shaking his head. "Y't'ink we gon' have time t'change on de battlefield? Got t'improvise, non?" He waved his hand around the sterile, empty Room. "Rev it up."

"Hold on," Rogue said. She began digging through her bag until she found her gloves. After slipping them on she headed towards him, noticing his eyes on her hands. He had a thoughtful expression on his face but she pretended not to notice. She thought of the conversation they had a couple days ago. She tilted her head up at the ceiling and called out, "Start Simulation--Warehouse District, Level One."

Engines whirred as computers sprang to life. Remy watched with fascination as the steel floor beneath them morphed into hard, pebbly ground. The atmosphere darkened, clouds rolling above their heads as a perfect imitation of a night sky. The walls of the Danger Room disintegrated; rundown buildings and warehouses appeared near and far, along with miscellaneous obstacles of boxes, machinery, and rubble. To top off the effect, thunder rumbled in the distance.

"Nice," Remy said.

Rogue took a few steps around their immediate area, summing up the surroundings. Remy couldn't help but admire the way her dark uniform hugged her curves and showed off her lithe muscles. When she turned to face him his eyes snapped back up to her face. Remembering their honest conversation from days before, he felt a little guilty about checking her out. He surprised himself by the thought and would have laughed if she had not spoken.

"They'll be coming soon." Her green eyes scanned the area, scrutinizing the shadows. "Get ready, swamp rat."

Remy was about to ask who "they" was, when he saw a shadow lingering behind and above him. He leapt out of the way and a suited man pounced heavily on where he formerly stood. "Y've gotta be kiddin' me," he said, snatching his bo-staff from his back pocket. His assailant wore a black suit, complete with tie and dark sunglasses over the eyes. He looked exactly like an agent from that one movie...

Remy didn't have time to pin the title as the suited man launched an attack at him. He extended his metal staff and deflected the kicks and punches easily. He drew in a sharp breath when his wounds pained his side. He quickly squelched the feeling. With a leap and a spin he clocked the guy over the head. With a _zap!,_ cackle, and hiss, the robot's skull was fractured and it fell to the ground. That was too easy. Before he knew it, too more suited men were on him. He dodged their initial attacks, leaping and spinning, before inflicting his own. He ducked a punch from one and twirled his staff, decking the other in the chest. With a speed that would have made Pietro Maximoff huff enviously, he flicked charged cards at the first man and watched the bot explode. He turned in time to block a blow from the other opponent, using his staff to trip him before blowing him up as well.

Remy was only a little out of breath. When he looked up he saw Rogue leaning against a pyramid of boxes and crates. "How come no one attacked you?"

She smiled, "Ya fight well, Gumbo."

Was that just a compliment? He looked at her suspiciously.

"And that was just the computer testing ya," Rogue said matter-of-factly. "Ah'm already in the database. But your warm-up is over so pay attention, pretty boy."

A smile tugged at the Cajun's lips, "Y't'ink I'm pretty now, chere?"

Rogue rolled her eyes but said nothing. She wouldn't have had time to react as three more suited men appeared. Each climbed out from behind the crates she leaned against and fell upon her at once. She punched the first one viciously, knocking him back with the force. Then she spun and kicked at the second across the midriff. When he grabbed her ankle she leapt and twirled her other leg around to knock his sunglasses off. She landed on her hands and flipped herself away as the third slammed a foot down where her head had been. The ground cracked with a large indent.

Remy enjoyed watching Rogue fight. Her movements were graceful, well-planned, but also hard and precise. He figured it was the result of vigorous training with the Wolverine fellow. He didn't have much time to speculate though, as hard hands grabbed him from behind.

Soon he was absorbed in the fight, using his powers from time to time to lessen physical demand on his injured body. As he took down his sixth and last opponent, he spared a glance at Rogue.

She was being thrown against a dirt-shoveling truck, agent hands around her throat. Remy moved towards her but stopped as she curled her legs up and kicked the man in the chest. With a vengeance she launched a series of punches and kicks that rendered him dazed. Then catching the man's arm, she swung him around. Helped with the momentum, she slammed him against the teeth of the truck's large shovel, impaling him instantly.

Without missing a beat she yelled out, "Level Two!"

It began to rain. More obstacles appeared, leaving less open ground. Remy stepped around piles of metal rubble and crates until he found Rogue patiently waiting. "Is de rain necessary, chere?"

Rogue smirked at his drenched clothes, "Told ya ta change." The water just rolled off her suit, leaving only her hair wet.

Remy shrugged, then asked, "What's with the Agents?" He tried not to notice how sexy she looked with wet tendrils of curling hair bobbing about her face. All teasing aside, she really was an attractive girl.

"Was Bobby's idea," Rogue said. "He loves the Matrix. He and Ah programmed this simulation." Reminded of her vacated friend, a forlorn expression fell across her face. "Ya know what...Ah think that's enough--" She cried out as Remy jerked her towards him.

A rotted crate toppled off the stack and exploded into splinters at her previous spot.

"Distraction ain't wise, eh, chere?" Remy said. He collapsed his bo-staff and stuck it in his pocket. He looked around warily as one by one, the familiar suits began appearing. Some carried guns, tasers, and whip cords. "Looks like de fun's jus' gettin' started."

The suits came at them all at once. Remy punched one that advanced with a taser. Extending his bo-staff, he twirled and swung it expertly, dealing blows left and right, up and down with lethal accuracy. The confined space made fighting slightly difficult, but he soon adapted. He leapt onto crates and pushed some over, charged pieces of rubble and watched them explode in satisfaction. He misjudged the move of his next opponent and received a blow to the temple. Seeing stars, he stumbled backwards and the staff, slicked from the rain, was easily kicked from his hand. He recovered quickly, jumping away from bullets that showered in his direction.

"Dese real, chere?" he called out, over the growing thunder. He hid behind a pile of crates, hearing the platter of ammunition against the wood. He wondered if anxiety was appropriate.

Rogue did not hear. With a leap, tuck, and roll, she skimmed the ground and snatched up his staff where it'd fallen, spinning around just in time to deflect the whip attempting to flog her. The cord whisked around the staff and caught. She smirked and tugged the pole back, bringing her assailant flying into her waiting fist. Then collapsing the pole she loosened the whip, cracking it vehemently at the opposition. "How ya doin', Cajun?" she yelled at him.

The crate had just been charged and a loud explosion replied to her shout. The force impaired several of their adversaries. Rogue ducked as fiery wooden stakes flew everywhere, some embedding into robotic chests.

Remy slid down a pile of rubble on a slab of metal. With the graceful balance of a skateboarder, he glided to a stop in front of Rogue and kicked the slab up into his hand. "Jus' fine, chere," he smiled.

"Show off," she huffed. "And ya could've at least warned me before ya blew it up. Ah coulda been staked with one of those things." She pointed at an unfortunate robot with a burning splinter in its head.

"Risks are necessary in battle, non?" Remy wiped the water from his eyes and looked around at the work they did.

"Not when ya could kill one of your teammates," Rogue snapped. She looked at him, noticed him cringe slightly. Pain from the wounds?

Remy was busy noting she still held the whip, "What y'gon' do, chere? Discipline me?"

Her gaze flicked to her hand and she rolled her eyes, "You wish."

"Chere, got t'say y'look mighty fine wit' dat whip."

She cracked it menacingly upon the ground, glaring.

"S'funny," Remy continued, unable to help himself. "Y'didn't strike me as de type t'use toys." His eyes widened in surprise when she thrashed the whip at him. He raised his arm, felt it wrap around his wrist. It stung a little but he ignored it and tugged her forward.

Rogue grunted and threw a punch, feeling him catch it. She released her hold on the whip and grabbed onto his damp shirt, moving to fling him to the ground. She hoped it would hurt a little more from his already-present wounds.

He reacted quickly and used the momentum to flip over her. As he landed on his feet, she was already moving to kick him in the face. He barely ducked out of the way in time. "Least give me a warning, chere." He favored her with a smirk. The girl sure had brass.

"Remy, Remy, Remy," she sang, in imitation of his earlier remark. "Are ya gonna get a warning on the battlefield?"

"Touché, chere."

They began circling each other. "Partner-Spar Sim Nine," Rogue requested.

The Danger Room shifted at her command. The warehouse district melted away to reveal a plain room with a flat gray mat. Without precedent Rogue leapt at him with a swift kick.

He agilely bent backwards, feeling her booted toe graze his chest. He blocked her next punch and smiled, "Not bad fo' a woman."

Rogue seemed more irritated when he teased. She growled fiercely and leapt at him with punch, spin, kick, thrust. He blocked her moves and she saw that he liked to grab, fingers wrapping around her wrist or ankles to disorient or trip her. She evaded him until with a slight miscalculation of his feint, her arm was caught. She jerked the other one back to elbow him in the face but he dodged it and snatched her hand. He tugged her arms roughly against her until they were crossed over her chest and she could not move them.

"Give up?" he breathed against her ear.

Rogue raised her right leg and stomped down on his toes as hard as she could.

He yowled and released her, falling backwards. He landed with a minor bounce on the mat, holding his foot. A fierce scowl played across his chiseled features then he shrugged and let out a dry laugh. "Dat was low, chere."

"Would've been if Ah'd aimed higher," Rogue replied with a feminine bat of her lashes. She wiped sweat from her brow and smiled, "Ya know what?"

Remy stopped favoring his smashed foot and asked, "What?"

"That was fun," Rogue said with a genuine smile. "Next time Ah need to be cheered up, Ah'll just kick your ass and feel better."

Remy huffed and stood up. "Next time you'll be de one on de floor, chere. I went easy on y' here. And 'sides, I was already crippled t'start wit'."

"Uh-huh," Rogue rolled her eyes. "End Simulation."

The Danger Room became stainless steel once again. Remy began wringing water from his dripping clothes. "Guess some of it was real," he muttered.

Rogue vaguely smirked as she picked up her towel. Draping it around her neck she picked up her gym bag. "Well, Ah'm gonna take a long shower. Let 'em know Ah'll be a lil' late for dinner, will ya?" She headed for the door.

"Hold on, Rogue."

She stopped, turned around curiously.

"Why don' we skip dinner."

"But then Ah'll be hungry," she frowned.

Remy sighed tiredly and looked at the ceiling. "We'll go out, river rat. To a restaurant."

"What?" Rogue narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. What was he insinuating? "Ya mean like a d--"

"No," he was quick to say. A moment of awkward silence followed.

Rogue found it amusing and unsettling that Remy was, for once, at a loss for words.

He quickly recovered, "De food here, gets old after a while, non? Y'can't say y'don' miss some good ol' southern cooking. I know dis place..." He stopped talking at the disconcerted expression on Rogue's face. "If y'don' wan' come, dat's fine. Only askin' fo' some comp'ny." He shrugged nonchalantly and picked up his trench coat.

"Well if ya'd give a girl time to reply," Rogue snapped, coming out of her confusion. "Ah just need time to get ready. Can ya wait or do ya just obey your stomach?"

Remy could not hide his satisfied grin, "For you, chere, anyt'ing."

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Half an hour," she told him. She stood looking at him for a few seconds. Then with a shake of her auburn tresses, she left.

He watched her go before checking his bandages. They were loose and wet, sagging beyond usefulness. The wounds had reopened and bled freely. He quickly applied pressure and chided himself on being so careless. Still, it was worth it and seemed like it would buy him a little more time in the mansion. Whether or not he realized it, he was starting to enjoy that girl's company. She was unique among the other X-Men and the fact that she too was southern, gave him a sense of connection.

_Dis is gon' be an interestin' night,_ he thought, and went to find McCoy.

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"Ah dare ya."

"You crazy? In front o' all dese people?"

"What, the oh-so-mighty-King-of-Hearts scared?"

"Psh."

"Then do it!"

"T'ain't a matter o' fear, chere. Dis'll wound my pride."

"'Cause ya know you'll be shot down. Ya aren't the king of all hearts."

"Jus' yours, right chere?"

"Please. You're just afraid of being rejected."

"Never go'n' happen. S'de concept dat disturbs me. Have not'ing 'gainst dem, don' get me wrong, but..."

"Can't test ya manlihood, huh? Oh, figures as much."

"Dere's nothin' dat needs t'be tested, chere."

"Prove it."

Remy settled her with a piercing stare, but Rogue only smiled prettily. This girl was going to be the end of him. With a resigned sigh he stood up from their table. He tossed a disapproving look back at her. She waved him off merrily. He cleared his throat and approached the waiter.

Rogue watched with curious interest. She noticed that as Remy walked by, many women sitting at tables turned their heads to admire him. Rogue frowned at their lustful stares, feeling slightly chafed. She turned her attention from the fantasizing females and observed as Remy tapped the waiter on the shoulder. The effeminate young man turned around. Remy said something, completing the effect with one of his bewitching smiles. The waiter grinned coyly and began jotting something down on a napkin. He slipped it delicately into one of the many trench coat pockets and murmured something back. When Remy nodded and turned to leave, the waiter gave a discreet pat to Remy's rear end and smirked in admiration.

Rogue mashed a napkin to her mouth to stifle the laughter. Her eyes sparkled with mirth as Remy casually sat back down in his seat. He took a drink of water, looking unperplexed and completely at ease. The lady's man, the smooth-talking charmer. Then he looked at Rogue and his resolve fell. "I feel so violated," he groaned.

Rogue allowed herself to laugh freely, the sounds rising from her chest and expelling from her throat in bubbly intervals.

He smiled at hearing her laughter. She rarely did it.

"Told ya so," she said between chuckles. "Ah can spot 'em like neon signs."

"Well, aren't you talented, chere," Remy drawled. "Now dat I've been felt up by a homme, y'happy?"

The reply was more laughter.

They were sitting in a restaurant tantamount to one found in New Orleans. Hidden away in the metropolis of New York, it remained humble and pleasant, though not without a heavy load of business every night. It served a variety of southern foods, ranging from typical fried chicken to spicy Cajun. Omnipresent jazz music drifted through the air, waiters and waitresses moving seemingly to the rhythm. Dim lighting created a quixotic atmosphere with the help of wispy landscape paintings and dark, pearlescent crepe paper twisted upon the walls.

They had been there for over an hour, but time passed without acknowledgment. Even after ninety minutes their plates were not empty. They had been too busy conversing and joking to pay that much attention to food.

"Careful, chere," Remy cautioned with an amused smirk. "Y'might choke on y'self."

Rogue sighed and forced herself to stop laughing. She downed some water to soothe her parched throat. "Ah'd pay ta see that again, Cajun. The look on your face..." She suppressed another round of laughter. "But hey, no shame. The guy was actually kinda cute."

"Don' you start gettin' ideas."

Rogue smiled ravishingly, "Why not? He might swing both ways."

"Ugh, chere! Don' need de images!" Her giggles made him smile again. She really should laugh more, he concluded. It was a pretty sound.

"Aren't ya gonna look at it?"

"What?"

"The napkin."

Remy had forgotten it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the scrawled phone number. He quickly tossed it into what was left of his jumbalaya sauce.

Rogue made a _tsk, tsk_ sound. "Shouldn't play wit' his heart, _mon ami,_" she imitated his accent. "Hell hath no fury like a man scorned."

"Y'never go'n' forget dis, huh."

"Couldn't if Ah wanted to," Rogue chuckled.

"Y'know I'm gon' get y'back, chere."

She raised her eyebrow challengingly, "And how do ya think to do that?"

Remy shrugged, a mysterious expression playing across his face. "I'll come up wit' somethin'. Don' worry."

She almost looked concerned, obviously thinking he wasn't afraid of attempting any deed. He continued to stare at her, expression teasing and cabalistic, trying to make her nervous. She held her dubious visage and he admired the way her soft lips pursed, the delicate arch of her eyebrow, the twinkle of those fathomless green orbs. He looked away quickly, averting his eyes to the napkin disintegrating in jumbalaya sauce. His relishing cognizance had not gone unnoticed by him. He ran a hand through his hair.

"You do that a lot."

He looked up, "Do what?"

"Run your fingers through ya hair," Rogue observed. "Is it some kind of nervous habit or somethin'?"

Remy favored her with a sly grin, "Now why would I be nervous, chere?"

"'Cause my presence is so imposing," Rogue drawled facetiously. "Ah make ya knees shake."

"No lie," he said, oblivious to the veracity of her statement. "Y'are de Queen o' Hearts, non? Y'kept dat card I gave y' chere?"

Rogue sipped her drink before looking at him, "What card?"

"Be honest now," he grinned. She had to have kept his card. He rarely gave one up without it eventually exploding. "De one from de Bayou. Y'know what I'm talkin' 'bout."

Rogue rolled her eyes and did not answer.

Remy saw the gateway into a whole new realm of teasing. "Aw, chere, y'jus' couldn't toss m'aside so quickly." Why wouldn't she just admit she kept the card?

"What's it to you anyway?" she asked testily.

A good question. Possible responses flashed through his mind and he picked the least honest of them all, "'Cause all de femmes dat get a card from ol' Gambit always keep 'em close t'heart."

"And Ah bet you just toss them around like ya do yourself," Rogue said.

Her response stung him more than he would like to admit. The fallacy of it wasn't even what irked him most. _Dat what she t'ink o' me?_ he wondered. It bothered him that she said it so easily, how the words rolled off her tongue with surety and masked disdain.

Rogue noticed the night's blithe conversation had taken a bad turn. Was it something she said? Her words couldn't have made much difference to him. Then again, he had been acting strangely during the beginning of their...outing. Almost awkward, as if them going to dinner wasn't entirely platonic. He must have sensed her initial discomfort, she decided, and was only trying to figure his way around it. Yes, that had to be it--things became comfortable once they ordered their meals. Or maybe she was wrong. Maybe it was something else, something too delicate to hope for or even muse about. And why hadn't he been extravagantly flirtatious or teasing as usual? He had behaved himself on the most part throughout the evening, acting like a friendly escort and providing pleasant company. Rogue was beginning to get a headache.

The waitress came to their table, "Can I take your plates, _now?"_ She looked irritated, having come four times previously and been turned away. When she saw how unchanged the plates were from her last two visits, she sighed in annoyance. "Ready for your check?" she asked with a tone of vexation.

"Qui," Remy said.

The waitress gave it to him and walked away, muttering about annoying French guys and couples that were so into each other they shouldn't bother going out to public places.

"I think she's mad at us," Rogue noted.

Remy turned and glanced at their retreating server. "Well, deduct one buck from her tip."

Rogue chuckled and reached for the bill.

Remy snatched it before her fingers even grazed the paper. "What y'doin', chere?"

"What's it look like, genius? How'm Ah supposed to know how much Ah owe if ya won't let me see the dang bill?"

Remy ignored her question, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a few dollars. In the dim lighting Rogue could not tell how much money it was. "De gentleman always pays."

"But not the friend," Rogue said.

"So we friends now, chere?" Remy asked.

Rogue realized her mistake. It was too soon to be classifying their "relationship" has anything. _Were_ they friends now? It had sure seemed like it for the most part, though she could not deny that underlying tug... Only friends?

She shrugged, "Dunno. What do ya think?"

Remy scratched his chin thoughtfully, "Hmm...not sure how I feel 'bout dat. I mean, bein' friends warrants _friendliness_, non?"

"You saying Ah'm not friendly?" Rogue asked with feigned defensiveness. She was glad he had changed the subject so artfully.

"T'tell de truth, chere, you a pistol."

Rogue released a dry laugh, not sure whether to take that as a compliment or insult.

The waitress came and took the bill. "Have a great rest of the evening and come again," she drawled.

As they stood to leave Remy tossed a one dollar bill onto the tabletop. Rogue raised an eyebrow in amusement and he shrugged, "Unfriendly service."

Rogue shook her head in mock disapproval.

"Ya know..." she said as they walked outside. "Ah really needed that. Haven't had a taste of home for a while. Thanks, swamp rat."

"M'pleasure, chere," Remy said, striding alongside her.

It was sometime past eight o' clock; the sun was nearly set, splashes of warm hues barely detectable on the horizon. Long shadows from towering skyscrapers played across their path. As the grey, blue, and black tones of night settled upon the city, lights popped on in seemingly random areas. The hour was not late, but already the streets of Middle Manhattan were beginning to empty. People were more paranoid in the dark those days.

"Wish Ah'd ordered that Mississippi Mud Pie," Rogue sighed wistfully.

Remy shot her a sidelong glance, amused, "Why didn't you?"

Rogue snorted, "What, and get fat?"

"Chere, lemme let y'in on a lil' secret: you a long way from fat. Fact is, I t'ink you're so in shape your body'll burn all dose calories like hellfire."

Rogue gave him a playful shove and they continued walking. "Where we goin'?" she asked. "We left the bike." Then she said, "Ah still can't believe you stole Logan's bike."

"Borrowed, chere," Remy corrected her. "'Sides, he ain't here t'know. And we're just strollin'. Got t'digest that fine meal, non?" He patted his stomach.

"Fine meal?" Rogue huffed. "Ah only ate half of it. Had, like, two pieces of fried chicken left. It's all your fault, ya know."

"Moi?"

"Yes! You talk too much. Ah couldn't concentrate on my food."

Remy chuckled, "But you talked back, chere. Seems like y'should've been keepin' y'mouth focused on eatin' an' not on me." He smirked at his own play of words.

"Ya just can't stop with the dirty jokes," Rogue said, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Dey're too fun, chere, 'specially when dey make y'blush so."

Rogue's hands flew up to her face and she scowled fiercely. "Ah am not blushing!"

_Dieu,_ Remy thought, _how's dis much fun possible?_

He reached over and brushed aside her loose strand of white hair, "No shame in it, chere. Y'cute when y'blush."

Her cheeks pinked more though her eyes glared. She swatted his hand away as if it was a fly. "Whatever," she muttered, in a very teenage way.

Remy began chuckling, though he was not sure why. Her juvenile tone seemed to trigger long-awaited gaiety. The chuckles grew into laughs and Rogue looked at him suspiciously before she caught whatever he had. They must have looked questionable, a young man and woman walking the New York night, laughing about nothing, about everything.

Rogue was the first to stop. She sighed and hugged herself. "It hardly seems fair," she breathed.

Remy noticed her shiver. He slid off his trench coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. "What does?"

She took the coat without question, continued to stare at the pavement. "We're out here, joking, laughing...while the others are at home worried sick over Scott, Amara, and Lance... Ah can't help feeling like we shouldn't be having a good time."

Remy allowed her words to sink in. She was having fun with him; she had admitted it. And yet she felt guilty. At that moment he did not know what was more amazing: Rogue or the fact that he thought she was amazing.

What was this girl? After living a life filled with such deceit and betrayal, most would have fallen into deep pits of blackness. Most would have emerged like those that had hurt them, grown cold-hearted and hopeless. Most would have renounced the world for wronging them so. But despite it all, Rogue retained enough humanity to care about others, to love the surrogate family she had joined. She had hope. She was selfless, worrying about her friends when her own life was such a mess. Underneath her hard exterior, she was still just an innocent girl, one forever bereft of a normal existence.

Remy realized how strong one had to be to overcome what Rogue had. She had a strength he was sure he never would. And she was still so young... He must have been staring because she looked at him strangely.

"What?" She grew defensive.

"Jus'...t'inkin' 'bout what y'said. Y'don' have t'feel guilty 'bout anyt'ing, Rogue. If dere's anyone who deserves some time off, s'you."

_'Cause bein' de vessel dat brought Apocalypse into de world ain't easy knowledge t'digest,_ he thought.

Rogue looked at him as though to say "thanks", but remained silent and shifted her gaze to the ground.

They had circled the small block and stood before the restaurant again. Remy mounted the motorcycle and revved the engine. As Rogue climbed on behind, both were very aware of their closeness. He heard her swallow as she wrapped her arms around his waist. The moment was... He quickly kicked off the curb and accelerated onto the main road. He felt her rest her head on his back and suppressed the smile. Soon the roar of the wind drowned out all thoughts.

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**Oh ho ho ho...**sweet, bitter, stupid? Let me know.

I can't leave without telling you all the pains of writing this chapter. Ogh, the effort! Aside from how difficult it is to write in literate English with fluid sentences, coming up with amusing situations is _hard._ Remy was just going to flirt with a waitress at first but that would have been expected and as typical as....typical can be. So why not a gay dude (nothing against gays and I hope nobody takes offense!)--haven't seen that before. I especially enjoyed writing about the butt pat and Remy groaning, "I feel violated." Hahaha...omg, there's something wrong with me.

Anyway, before I make myself seem more like a whacko then already believed,

**Next Chapter: Ghost** (right? I think so...We return to the problem at hand)


	12. Ghost

SO VERY SORRY this chapter took so much longer than usual to get done. It was just so...agh, you'll see.

**The reactions I received from the last chapter were quite pleasing, I have to say.**I had absolutely been itching to get it out and when I finished, I was quite satisfied with it. The levity is good to relieve the tension, don't you think? But this next one is less than pleasant so get ready for a severe change of gears.** And with Remy's infamous butt-pat**, don't you just love it? Hahahaha...

Okay, sorry for not replying to all your reviews but I really really am short on time right now I just wanted to upload this for all of you!

**Silkyblack**(still like Kitty)**, flowerperson, evlteddy, Les723, CircleofStone, fudgebrowne, ishandahalf**(where will I put those stars??)**, PomegranateQueen, Allie, Freak87**(Logan and Ororo...mmm, the possibilities--Logan and Jean, ew)**, Blackrougefille, Sweety8587 **(i got the pistol line fr/ _Titanic_, I think it's a very archaic saying, oops)**, enchanted light, Gren44**(maybe you can visit that restaurant, oh, wait, I never mentioned the name...heh),**kendokao-----much love to you all!** **May you never be disappointed with the way things turn out in this fanfic. And have no doubts, it will not go unfinished.**

If any of y'all are sneakin' a peak and not reviewing--honestly, I am disappointed!! deep scowl Show some gratitude, it's like the non-monetary payment for this "fine" entertainment. Heh.

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Kitty called the mansion often for updates but Rogue never had any news for her.

"How can we not know anything by now?" Kitty hissed, voice tight. "The Professor's been gone for days!"

Rogue sat in the kitchen with Wanda, while Kurt and Tabitha prepared dinner. She adjusted the cordless phone to her other ear. "Ah don't know, Kit, nobody does. The Professor hasn't contacted us, yet. Except for that one time to say they'd gotten there safely and another time to tell us they were just meeting with the Count..."

"We can't, like, track them down or anything?" Kitty was almost shrill. "Can't we find the X-jet on radar or something?"

"Not if it isn't givin' off a signal," Rogue said. "That's what Mr. McCoy said anyway. None of us know what's going on and we're thinkin' about going off to find them."

Kitty let out a shaky breath on the other end of the line, "It got Bobby, Rogue. Bobby and Sam. Doesn't matter that we're not at the Institute. It's still gonna, like, find us anyway...God, what's going _on?_ The Professor's gone, Logan's gone, Storm's gone--and we don't know how to stop this! It'll just keep attacking us until we're all dead--"

"Stop it, Kitty," Rogue hissed. Hearing her usually optimistic friend speaking in such a way made her blood run cold. "Don't think like that. Please, just...everything'll be okay."

Wanda looked up at Rogue with a worried expression, something not characteristic for her. It was chafing.

Rogue tried to convince herself that things would be all right. Hearing Kitty's panicked words, the voices in her mind began shouting again. She tried to shut them out. "Things are gonna be okay. They always do. Ah mean, we're really prepared. Just yesterday Mr. McCoy showed us all how to handle the IVs and monitors and stuff just in case, ya know, 't help us anymore..." She realized the words were wrong after she said them.

"I have to, like, go, Rogue," Kitty said, voice thick. She was trying not to cry. "I, uh, my mom's calling. I'll call later." She hung up without waiting for a reply.

Rogue set the phone down.

"All right," Tabitha said, setting a bowl of noodles on the table. Kurt placed a pot of spaghetti sauce beside it. "Dinner is prepared. Dig in!"

"Where's Mr. McCoy and Gambit?" Rogue asked.

Kurt nodded towards the Infirmary, "He's getting a last check up. Mr. McCoy zays he's probably well enough to leave tonight."

Wanda took the plate that Tabitha passed her. "As much as his cockiness annoys me, I wish he'd stick around. This place doesn't feel right...missing so many people. I'm kind of missing my annoying brother--God, even Todd's stupidness." She sneered angrily, appearing more like the Wanda they all knew.

Rogue pushed her spaghetti around on the plate, murmuring a quiet, "Yeah."

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"So do I get a clean bill o'health, Doc?"

Mr. McCoy pulled off his latex gloves and tossed them in the trash can. "Well, Mr. LeBeau..." He picked up the chart and scribbled some notes. After reviewing the information for a few seconds he looked up and smiled, "Your wounds are healing nicely. These past few days have been good to you, if you discard the unwarranted Danger Room session..." He gave the patient a disapproving frown before continuing, "You won't need any more medical attention, but don't stress your body too much. The gashes can still hurt a bit. Ah, let me remove the head bandage. It's not necessary anymore." He set the chart down and peeled off the tape and gauze.

Remy ran a hand over his forehead, feeling the scabs covered by his bangs. "You go'n' be keepin' dat file?"

Mr. McCoy nearly smirked, "Why, yes. I always compile the files and notes of all my patients. But don't worry, they are only for my eyes to see."

"Ain't possible for y'jus' t'burn it, neh?"

"I don't see a reason for you to be nervous. It only contains biological information."

Remy shrugged, "Guess so." Mere biology or not, he didn't like the idea of people keeping facts about him. He debated whether or not to steal it later.

"Well, now that's everything's done, there really isn't any reason for me to keep you here," Mr. McCoy said. He looked like a proud doctor after having discharged an ill patient. "You're perfectly healthy as far as I can tell. Feel free to leave anytime."

"Y'kickin' me out, Doc?"

"Of course not. Hmm, I know the Professor offered you a place here, as an X-Man. Is that something you are considering?" Mr. McCoy tried to read the Cajun's expression.

Remy pulled on his shirt and shrugged again in his usual detached manner. "Hard t'say, homme. Now dat Mags is gone, not really sure what I should be doin' right now. Signin' up wit' de X-Men seems a lil'...dunno."

Mr. McCoy nodded, "Well, you're welcome to stay if that's what you wish. In the meantime, go and have yourself some dinner. I'm sure it's all prepared now. I'll go check on the patients one last time." He turned and left, picking up three charts along the way.

Remy heard him talking to the redhead in the other room.

"You really should go eat something, Jean."

"I can't leave Scott. He'll know if I'm not there. We have a connection."

"Would you like me to bring something down?"

"I'm not really hungry, Hank. I just...I just want to be with him right now."

Remy looked at the floor. He still had not moved from the examination cot. That redhead sure was committed to Shades. And despite how much he couldn't see anything appealing in the eye-blasting stiff, he had to admire how the guy could make a girl fall so hard. Not that it was anything new for Remy. Many belle femmes had fallen for him, loved him, and he had left them all in the dust--never even leaving a note or giving them a second thought. No words of comfort, no good-byes. Still, he wondered if any of those girls had _really_ fallen for him, or was it all just intense infatuation? Would they do _anything_ for him? Risk everything for him? Starve themselves and stay at the side of his sickbed? He would never know, and he wasn't sure if he even cared.

"I don't know what to do, Hank," Jean's voice floated in from the other room. It sounded congested, like she had been crying. "If Scott doesn't make it--if he doesn't..."

"Do not dwell on those thoughts," Mr. McCoy said. "All we can do is have some faith."

Jean clearly was not listening. "I didn't even get a chance to say good-bye..."

Remy hopped off the cot and picked up his trench coat. As he pulled it on he left the Infirmary. This place was definitely getting to him. It was making him think about things he'd rather not ponder. There was a sense of family here. Though none of them were blood-linked, they acted as though they were. It was contagious. And then there was her. He combed his fingers through his hair. He smiled without realizing it, remembering how she had noticed his habit.

He smelled tomato sauce wafting from the kitchen. A growl in his stomach alerted hunger, but he ignored it. Maybe it was time to leave before he got himself in too deep. Nobody wanted him here anyway. He did not want to become attached to a place again. Life was easier living it alone. Then his own words came back to bite him in the ass.

_Dey care 'bout you and y'shouldn't push dem away like y'do, otherwise, you really will end up alone. _

But he was not her. He did not have what she had. Remy sighed in frustration and ran a hand through his hair. He turned away from the kitchen, going up the large staircase. He locked himself in his guest bedroom and decided to take a shower. He turned the water as hot as it would go, trying to burn away all thoughts. When he was finished he dried off, careful with the now-thinner bandages. The bulkier ones had been traded in when the wounds began to close up appropriately.

He saw himself in the mirror as he pulled on some more borrowed clothes. Look at what happened to you, fool. And where did you go? Where else but to the X-Men of all people, the only ones who are righteous enough to offer unconditional help. Maybe this was a good place. His thoughts were no less boggled as he pulled on his trench coat. He only became more confused when the screams reached his ears.

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Tabitha knocked over the spaghetti sauce when they heard the noise. She leapt from the table, hands covering her ears. "It's Hank!"

Rogue struggled to breathe for a moment. No, not Mr. McCoy. Not Mr. McCoy. She followed the others into the Infirmary, running as fast as their feet could carry them. As they entered the observation area a cart of surgical tools flew past, nearly impaling Kurt. It crashed against the wall, sharp knives and scalpels flying everywhere. Rogue cried out as a sailing razor sliced her arm. Suddenly the flying blades were stopped in midair, then flung away from them by an invisible force.

"Watch out!" Jean shouted desperately. She stood blocking the doorway to the comatose patients.

Mr. McCoy was not himself. He roared frighteningly and picked up a chair. He heaved it across the room, aiming at an unseen target. "Leave me alone!" he roared savagely. "Stay away!" He groped about his tools, picking up anything he could find and hurling them clumsily. Kurt disappeared with a puff of smoke and brimstone. He reappeared on top of Hank, grabbing a hold of his head and covering his eyes. "It's all vight Mr. McCoy! There's nothing there! Nothing--" He yelped when he was thrown off.

Jean telekinetically stopped him from crashing onto a counter of lab equipment.

Rogue winced in pain as the psyches in her mind began screaming in panic once again. She fought to keep her mental walls up, straining from the effort.

_She's here! She's here!_

_Run away before she sees us!_

_What do you think you're doing? Get the hell away!_

_She'll take us! She'll take us!_

The doctor was showing all the stereotypically expected behaviors of his beastly appearance. He roared and growled, eyes wide and feral. He swiped and clawed at the air in vain, all the while roaring at the top of his primal lungs.

And the X-Men just watched in horror. Rogue snapped out of it quickly and shouted, "Move him! Get him away from it!"

Jean was the first to react. With a strained gasp she focused her energy on Hank and propelled him out of the observation area. He continued to flail and squirm until Wanda hexed him with her powers. He couldn't move properly after that. As he skimmed through the corridor he looked around, eyes searching frantically. He seemed to relax a bit, breathing ruggedly.

Rogue was the first to reach him, followed by Jean, Kurt, Wanda, and Tabitha. "Mr. McCoy?" she called softly. "Mr. McCoy can ya hear me?"

He looked around, eyes unfocused. "R-Rogue, students, f-forgive me. I, uh, she was here...she was--_there! There she is!_ Stay away from me!" His ear-splitting roars echoed down the hall. He growled furiously, knocking the youths aside as he grabbed for things to throw. He snatched a side table from the wall and flung it at the ceiling. It shattered to splinters of wood that rained down on the students.

With a frustrated growl Wanda hexed him again with more force. He collapsed to the ground. "Hurry, we don't know where it is!"

Rogue grabbed one arm while Jean took the other. Tabitha looked around fearfully, cherry bombs glowing in both hands. She threw them in random directions and their explosions created little craters in the walls and ceiling. It was her screaming that they did not expect.

Wanda cursed as she latched onto Tabitha with her powers. As she tried to pull the girl away something flickered into view like a distorted image, right above the shrieking blond. Her eyes widened when the smoky figure appeared. She suddenly forgot her powers. "Oh my God," she gasped, fear clutching her mind, rendering her helpless. Ghosts were real. Evil spirits and demons and monsters...forget mutants. This was a ghost. Ghosts were real.

Tabitha didn't scream for long as the ghost grabbed her head with its clawed hands, all the while not taking her eyes off Wanda. The ghost was feminine and smiled prettily though it only appeared ever more terrifying. Then Tabitha ceased her pained wailing and fell as a rag doll. The ghost floated towards its next prey.

Rogue stopped for a breath after she and Jean had hauled Hank around the corner. "Kurt?" she looked around in alarm. "And Tabitha--Wanda!" She nearly screamed when Kurt _poofed_ into existence with Wanda at his side.

"It got Tabby," he told them. "And Vanda vas next."

Suddenly the witch started screaming incoherently. She threw her hexes in all directions, causing the lights, rug, and hall decorations to fly dangerously.

"Kurt!" Jean cried. "Teleport Hank away from here!"

Rogue ducked a flying painting and looked at Jean. She was right; Hank had to be saved first. He was the only adult left, the only voice of reason that they had to preserve. "Do it, Kurt!" she shouted. She pulled off her gloves and touched Hank's skin for a brief moment. She felt his agility flow into her veins. The already present personalities in her mind quieted when Hank entered. His authority disciplined them.

Kurt nodded and moved to grab Hank when a twirling vase smashed against his head. His eyes rolled up and he fell in a heap.

"Kurt!" Rogue gasped, leaping out of the way of another flying object.

Wanda was attacking the invisible ghost. "You won't get me!" she screamed angrily, fearfully, crazily. "I'm not scared of you! I'm not scared of you!"

Rogue watched where Wanda's hexed objects flew, no doubt to the location of Wraith. She looked at Jean but the telepath had already caught on. Her eyes darted from place to place as Wanda continued to hurl objects. Simultaneously barring things from hitting her, Jean focused a psychic blast in an estimated direction.

There was ripple in the air and for a split second a smoky figure appeared before disappearing again.

_Astral projection,_ Rogue thought, remembering her earlier discussion with Hank. _Then it's not a ghost, it's a telepathic self-projection which means a telepath can attack it._ Hope surged through her as she turned to tell Jean. But the air was knocked out of her lungs as something flew into her. She was thrown backwards but caught by strong arms.

"Chere, didn't know y'could fly." Remy set her down on the floor. His light words were heavy with a grave tone. Red-on-black eyes focused on the disturbing scene. He heard Rogue gasping for air, but knew she'd be all right in a few seconds.

The redhead was trying to attack telepathically while keeping objects from hitting her. Sweat beaded on her forehead and she began to look more strained by the second. Scarlet Witch's angry shrieking only added to the ensuing chaos of panic and flying hall ornaments. But Remy saw beyond all that. He saw the ghostly figure. When he had eye contact he froze, feet unable to move.

_So dis is fear,_ he was somehow able to think. _Dis is terror._ He had never felt it like this before. The moments he'd caught a glimpse of the phantom before had been brief. But now he felt cold all over and had the incredible urge to run away.

It was a girl, a girl laughing as she continued to toy with Scarlet Witch. Like a child playing an amusing game. She looked horrid, with scraggly hair and wide protruding eyes. Her hands were smoky claws and face contorted into all expressions horrible and discomforting. She dodged the objects though some hit and went right through her. She scowled her vaporous face when a few of Jean's weaker-by-the-second psychic blasts impacted against her ethereal form. She finally seemed to bore of the taunting and dove straight at Wanda like a missile. The witch dropped unconscious in seconds. Objects ceased to fly as the hexes desisted.

Remy finally snapped out of his daze. He charged a few cards and tossed them. The ghostly form only giggled as they went right through her and exploded. Jean cried out from the bursts of energy and lost her concentration. She collapsed against the wall, exhausted.

_Won't you be mine, Remy_.

His eyes snapped up to meet the phantom's. Slowly the frightening features began to melt away, revealing the face of a girl not unpleasant to look at.

_Oh, you're so beautiful. Beautiful demon eyes. You'll be mine and we'll be ever so happy...you'll see..._

She floated towards Hank with a playful grin on her face. He was just coming to, groaning and opening his eyes. He saw her and froze, beastly mouth hanging open in confusion.

_Always wanted a fuzzy animal to play with. Never had the chance, though. Never had the chance. Would you cry for me, Remy? Would you cry for me, even if you don't love me yet?_

She looked almost sad but once she began draining the doctor she was ebullient with laughter and high-pitched shrieks again. She leapt away, bouncing off the walls and hanging off the lights like a primal ape. Then she swirled by Remy, reaching out to touch him but her wispy hand drifted right through his flesh.

He felt cold and wanted to twist away but couldn't. His mind could not make sense of what he was seeing. "Why y'doin' dis?" he asked.

_Everybody needs to live. Even me--and this is the only way I can feel alive. Don't I deserve to live?_ She pouted and smoky tears flowed down her cheeks. _Don't I deserve life? But I don't have it! He took it away from me that evil bastard. I'll kill him one of these days. I'll be back and I'll kill him! _And suddenly she was gone as though she had never been there.

Remy tried to sort out what just happened. He looked up and down the hall, noted the fallen X-Men. The redhead was shallowly panting while massaging her temples. Nightcrawler began to awake, looking around groggily. Beast, Scarlet Witch, and BoomBoom lay unconscious. Comatose.

Remy turned around to see Rogue slouched against the wall, hand clutching her upper arm. She was muttering to herself incoherently, quieting the voices in her head. Then with a relieved sigh she opened her eyes and looked at him. Those deep emeralds scanned the scene before her and she bit her lip. She shook her head, bangs falling over her porcelain face.

Remy suddenly saw the drops of redness seeping through her fingers. "Chere, y'bleedin'," he said hoarsely. Disregarding her discomfort towards touch, he helped her off the floor and looked at her arm. "S'not too bad."

She looked up at him with a doubtful gaze. "You were talking to her," she murmured quietly. "I watched you...she was talking to you wasn't she?"

Remy averted his eyes, shivering at the thought. The ghostly girl did not seem like a heartless mutant killer. Her childlike innocence was obvious, her anger and sadness unexplainable. Remy was glad that Rogue did not press for answers.

As Jean and Kurt regained their composure, all four of them tended to their fallen friends. They worked silently, the air they breathed thick with destruction, fear, and doubt.

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**Alas, we leave on a solemn note.** This chapter was originally going to be much longer but I've split it up to make sense plot-wise and give more leeway to delve into Rogue and Remy's relationship. Think it'll work out--I just might be that conniving.

**Next Chapter:** **Rhyme and Reason**

Bittersweet dramatic angst--I think. See ya next time! And don't forget...REVIEW!!! It really makes my day!

**Remember to check every 2-3 days for updates--they come up often!**

**Sneak Preview: Demon In My View Sequel: **Guess what? I just decided there's gonna be a sequel to this story. I've already started plotting out what's going to happen in it too!! It might take a while to get out what with my senior year of high school coming up, but I think you guys will like it. I think the only word that can describe it is...epic.

I'm gushing I'm so excited! Keep those reviews coming in case I lose my steam--God, forbid, but it happens.


	13. Rhyme and Reason

**Hey all, I'm back with another addition to this creepy tale.** I hope everybody has been enjoying their time reading this story--I've enjoyed writing it. Though it would be nice to do some reading of my own. Anybody who's in contact with Ishandahalf, edanielyra, or Seven Sunningdale, give them a ring and tell them to update their stories! I am especially eager to know the conclusion of "Love of my Life"--wow, that's such a great story.

**Sorry this took longer than usual**. The annoucement on said we wouldn't be able to login on Aug. 17 and 18--so I didn't. But then I tried it anyway and got in so, heck, whatever.But school's coming close and my thoughts are becoming more boggled with each passing day. I've lost track of the days, actually, and I hate that. I've been one day behind for a week and it's incredibly disappointing to find out it's the 18 when you think it's the 17. God, school's coming. Ick.

Anyway, down to review replies.

**Freak87:** Events are quite unsettling, aren't they? Questions and contemplations will either be confirmed or disproved in due time.--wink-- And yes, the ghost is getting hungrier as time gets along, isn't she? I thought the love interest in Remy was a fascinating twist to explore. It'll play a big part in later chapters. Once school starts I'm pretty sure I'll be updating less frequently--but I definitely will not stop! The story must be told. As for the sequel, it's going to come along super slowly--much like edanielrya with _Broken_ and Seven Sunningdale's stories (again, _why _must they take so long to update? I swear I'm dying over here). And, yes, I did get a large burst of inspiration. Glad to know you're enjoying it. **Sweety8587:** I know I've said this before but I'll say it again, I love reading your reviews! LoL. Anyway, yes, bittersweet Remy contemplations will only lead to more frustration and confusion--and once that happens--to rash actions. Oh, yes, you'll see what happens after you read this message and scroll down. Lovin' all your speculations on Wraith and the plot. Believe me, when I was first plotting out the story, it didn't have any of this stuff. Funny how ideas and things just come once the fingers start tapping out the story upon the keyboard. You won't be disappointed with how this ends! **Flowerperson:** Yep, three's the charm, right? And it is only Jean, Kurt, Remy, and Rogue--but even that won't last as you'll see in this chapter. And I did figure the mansion would be creepy when not filled to the rim with energetic mutant kids. I hope this update wasn't too tardy for your expectations! **Shockgoddess:** New job? I wish I could have a new job! Retail is so typical and annoying. And I love how Remy teases Rogue, though they didn't put much of that in Evolution. Would have been amusing to see it. **Ishandahalf:** As always, your enthusiasm is spurring! **Sungirl:** Oh, thank you. Your comment was unique. I try to make the story fluid to readers and understanding. And yes, it annoys me too how some fanfictions simply make the characters what they want instead of what they really are--I'm glad you think I've done it right. **SickmindedSucker:** Oh, yes, the infamously hated crap in life. Trust me, I'm having plenty of that right now. Y'like the butt-pat huh? I think many people did. Hehehe. Whoa, control those murderous urges, my friend--everybody is going to get theirs in the end. **PomegranateQueen:** thank you, keep reading! It only gets better from here on out. **Gren44:** I didn't think this story would have a whole lot of action in it--but if it didn't, how boring would _that_ be?? The toughest part is describing it write and getting the actions so they can be pictured in the mind. The deal in Austria is of less focus, but what the Professor, Logan, and Storm are going through will be told nonetheless. **Allie:** Thank you--I'll keep emailing those alerts until somebody tells me to stop. I hate to be annoying. :) **sd:** You have no idea what's going on?? How can that be?? Or are you just kidding? Basically there's the ghost who's attacking people but nobody knows why yet. And she's also got a thing for Remy and Rogue's psyches are terrified of her. Yeah, how's that for a curt summary? **Silkyblack:** I wish everybody would read this story I night! I type it at night and, God, even I get shivers from the plots of my own making. Hmm, don't know Mary Higgins Clark, though the name does carry a particularily familiar ring to it.... As for Remy staying, you'll have to just read this chapter and see. **Kendokao:** Of course leaving the school won't make them safer. Parents, right? Remy needs to trip a few notches down his ego scale 'cause frankly, it makes him a jackass. I like it so much better when he's doubtful and contemplative--but of course he can't stay that way all the time otherwise he wouldn't be our Remy! Everybody wants Jean to die! I feel sorry for the girl honestly, but, ehhh, I'm trying _really hard_ not to reveal plot points to you guys. **Just me:** Glad you agree to my methods, and coming from a new name, that's refreshing. And what kind of horror story would be a horror story if it lacked creepiness? ; ) I wish would have a genre that said Romance/ActionAdventure/Horror. I didn't think there'd be any action here at all, but in the upcoming chapters, I outdid myself. **NevaBlack:** So another reader reads at night! Yes! I really wish everybody would do that because it's so much easier to get into it that way. Keep reading! Oh, by the way, whenever a nonmember reader posts an email, I tend to personally alert them to updates--if you mind, tell me to stop. **Yersi Fanel:** Well, I try to make it interesting. If it's not interesting to write, I figure it wouldn't be to read. Glad you like my writing style. And I agree, I think I am seriously in love with Remy! **Werewolflass: **yay! You're back. And I'm glad you say that Remy is an adult because technically he is, right? His age is a little ambiguous in Evolution--but in the places I've read up on him, he's been said to be 22 and Rogue is 18. Four years apart...heh. And oh yes, I know how it is to have Internet withdrawal. I wish I had satellite Internet connection or something for this laptop so I could take it anywhere, write, and upload. But dreams... **Hawkgirl:** Ah, a new reviewer! I always love seeing a fresh penname on the list. And you're the first person to say my work is artful and a gem--I thoroughly enjoy such unique compliments. More fight scenes are up and coming--I wish I could have put this under the Action/Adventure genre, too. Oh well.

**Thanks to all of you that reviewed! And if you didn't, shame shame. Make it up to me by writing hellishly long reviews for the upcoming chapters. Ha.**

**Anyway, no more notes because **I'm sure you're tired to seeing these irrevelent comments! On with the show...

**-----------------------------------------**

He sat on the roof, arms resting on his angled knees, eyes seeing nothing. He was having troubling thoughts.

Last night Hank, Tabitha, and Wanda had been taken to beds in the Infirmary. The doctor would have been proud at how well his students handled the situation. They had been paying attention when he taught them how to care for a comatose patient. Once all the IVs and monitors were set and connected, the three remaining X-Men stood back and looked at the their friends.

Six beds with six patients. Remy had stood in the corner, watching the expressions of fear and sadness on their faces. It was the harrowing situation before them that caused the rogue, the telepath, and the fuzzy blue elf to clutch each other in a hug. They were the last of the X-Men and it was all too real for them.

Even as an outsider, Remy knew what they were thinking, knew what they feared. What if they couldn't save their friends? What if the Professor, Logan, and Storm never came back? What if...What if...

_Won't you be mine, Remy._ Her vaporous voice was fresh in his mind, her words still as bone-chilling. _Would you cry for me, Remy? _

He wanted to forget all this. As if he didn't have enough ghosts in the past to haunt him. Why did this have to happen--now of all times? But then again, was it not the haunting of this girl that brought him to these people in the first place? If she had never come and impaired him, Julien and the Assassins never would have gotten the upper hand, never would have wounded him so austerely. And he never would have come to the X-Men, never have... He shook his head. He wanted to forget, but the one thing that could make him forget was occupied at the moment.

Summer suns set later than he was accustomed to. The golden orb seemed very near as it began to sink into the horizon. Splashes of pink, orange, purple, and red illuminated the sky like the artistic works of divinity. When was the last time he admired the sunset? Oh, yes, a couple nights ago, with Rogue--before the current horrors. They sat at that exact spot and talked, talked until the stars and moon came out and both of them grew sleepy. Despite what was happening they managed not to dwell on troubling subjects. Rogue was amazing in that way and Remy could forget....

"Ya ever think maybe the stars aren't just bright balls of energy?" she had asked.

Remy gave her quirky smile, "What you mean, chere?"

She shrugged, one side of her mouth tucked in so the cheek dimpled. "There doesn't have ta be a science to everything. Ya know, like maybe they're souls or lil' deities or other planets..."

"Some o'dem are planets."

Rogue scowled, "Nevamind."

"Non, I know what y'mean. Just messin' wit' y'."

"Ya sure like to tease people, swamp rat. Ever get tired of it?"

"Nope."

"And what if ya got people mad?"

"Usually do, chere."

Rogue rolled her eyes, "Ah guess that's the point, huh? You're just an annoying, flirty, touchy, thieving Cajun."

Remy chortled, "Lots o'adjectives dere. An' dey ain't all true, either."

"Sure..."

"An' you, chere?"

"What about me?"

"Funny, cute when y'mad, pleasant, a _tres belle femme_."

Rogue snorted and waved away his remark. "Trust me, those aren't the words most people would choose."

"Den dey don't know y' very well."

She didn't say anything, simply hugged her knees closer to her chest and let the wind caress her hair. Her white streaks fluttered to and fro around her porcelain face, teasing the curves of her cheeks, brushing against her velveteen lips. She must have realized he was staring because a light blush blossomed under her skin.

"Feelin' uncomfortable, chere?" Remy couldn't help but ask.

"No, why would Ah?"

Remy shrugged, giving her a sly smile.

"Please. Ya aren't enough to make me nervous."

"Non?" He inched closer to her until they were side-by-side and almost touching. "How 'bout now?"

"Nope," she said easily, but her cheeks betrayed her.

He walked his fingers up her arm, ran them through her hair. "Now?"

She suddenly started laughing, "This has got to be your lamest trick, swamp rat. Your charms aren't gonna work on me."

"Realized dat long time 'go, chere. But I ain't usin' 'em."

Rogue suddenly shoved him away with an irritated sigh. She pushed him harder than intended and watched in surprise as he toppled precariously backwards. He slid down the roof, hands groping for something to grab onto. She cried out his name in alarm and lunged forward, snatching the collar of his trench coat. His feet finally got a hold and with her help, hoisted himself up to safety.

"Are ya all right?" Rogue asked, grimacing. "Sorry, Ah didn't mean to..."

"S'fine," he said, feigning anger. "Coulda broken m'neck but 's fine."

"Remy, Ah really am sorry," she insisted.

"Already wounded 'nough, too. T'ink de gashes might be bleedin' again."

"Dang it, what do ya want me to do?"

He couldn't help grinning then, wrapping his arms around her and leaning back until she lay on top of him. Her persistent squirming only made him laugh. "Want y' t'show me how sorry y'are, chere."

She glared furiously, "Paws off! No touching!"

"Too late."

"Remy--"

"Love de way y'say m'name, chere."

"Oh mah God!" she exclaimed in submission. "There's just no winning with you!"

He only continued to laugh and soon, she did, too. When the chuckles ceased she was still on top of him and their closeness became tantalizingly palpable. He saw her throat constrict and relax as she swallowed nervously. He became maximally aware of who she was, what she was, where she was. What he wanted her to be. He did not know what to make of it. She was the untouchable one. She was the forbidden fruit. And ergo, she was inevitably a waste of his time. Or was she? She was... There were no other words.

Emeralds deeper than the sea, greener than the healthiest plant, scared.

She broke out of his hold and crawled a safe distance away. "It's late," she said, not looking at him. "We better go inside."

"Sure, chere." He followed her in, utterly confused about what had just occurred, the feelings he had. And as he slept that night, his dreams were not haunted by the misty phantom. Another specter teased his mind, taunted his desires. She would come so close but always manage to slip out of his grasp, sighing in a sing-song voice, _"Can't touch me."_ And he'd stop the chase, stare into oblivion as she continued to tease and play ebulliently. "I know, chere," he said. "I know."....

Remy snapped out of his reverie and back to the present. The sun had completely set. He looked around as though confused about where he was. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

What now? The uncertainty of what to do next was driving him crazy. He felt obligated to stay with the remaining X-Men, but at the same time it didn't seem to be his place. What if they wanted him to leave? That Nightcrawler was always giving him distrustul looks, much like the ones Shades used to shoot.

_It'd be mean an' downright rude t'go,_ he reasoned. _It ain't right t'jus' abandon Rogue and dem when all de others are already gone._

Safety in numbers. He should stay.

He felt the bottle of sedative still in his coat pocket. There was still a job left undone, one he should have finished days ago. Not to mention the Acolytes must be wondering where he was. Damn, he hated conflict. It seemed that unfinished business would forever nag him until he took care of it. Then he could return and deal with the present situation. Besides, there was something--an internal instinct--that beckoned him to return to Theodore Farrat. He had to go. He did not know why but he knew it was necessary. Maybe this was for the better. His doubts did not disperse as he made his plans.

He walked across the roof until he found a balcony. Lowering himself onto it, he landed softly and then scaled down the nearby tree until he touched ground. This way he wouldn't have to go through the mansion. He wouldn't have to bump into her.

He walked around the side of the building, coming into view of the front steps and the circular roundabout driveway. He started walking towards the gate, planning the distance he should strike his bo-staff onto the ground and propel himself over the wall. Or would that hurt his wounds? He'd find out in a few minutes.

_Better jus' t'leave an' never look back,_ he told himself. He thought of teasing, of laughter, of beautiful green gems. _Don' know what y'gettin' y'self into, LeBeau_.

But the pure truth of it was, he really wanted to know, even if he couldn't admit it.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Her pale knuckles rapped against the guest bedroom door. When she received no reply she nudged it open slightly and called softly, "Remy?" Silence. She walked in and found the bed made, the windows closed, and everything looking like the room had never been used. Rogue couldn't help herself. She looked around for a note, a scrap of paper, an unreadable scribble--anything. She left the room feeling worse than previously. But how was that possible? Some of her friends were in a coma while the others had been whisked away to disillusioned safety. And the Professor, Storm, Hank, Logan? No more sagely wisdom, no more comforting growls, no more calm strength or scientific witticisms. Rogue questioned her sanity. Already things were bad and she felt worse because the dumb Cajun had disappeared.

And was it not like him to leave without saying good-bye? After all, what did he owe anybody here? He wasn't an X-Man. He wasn't a part of the team. So why couldn't he just disappear without a care for anything or anybody.

Rogue felt herself near tears. _Oh, great. Just what Ah need right now._ She had not cried for a very long time. This was absolutely ridiculous. But then again she could not remember ever feeling so helpless. She rubbed her eyes, smearing her make up. She went to her room and took a searing hot shower. Then she dressed in a long-sleeve green shirt and black sweat pants. She did not re-apply her makeup.

_This summer sucks,_ she decided, heading downstairs.

The entire day had been spent tending to the comatose X-Men. It would have been easy to leave them alone, sleeping, but days of extended rest drained the body of its nutrients. They needed to be fed in little amounts intravenously. IV bags needed changing, monitors needed reading. The bodies needed to be taken care of. Rogue had taken special care of tending to Mr. McCoy. It had been frightening to see him roar and bellow like a savage beast when he was really a gentle old soul. She wished he was awake, wished to hear his reasonable explainations to the heinous occurances in their world. Thinking of that only made her miss Logan. She feared for his life as well as for the Professor and Storm. What had happened to them? The what-ifs would drive her mad.

An aroma of cooking food drifted from the kitchen. Rogue realized last night's dinner had been disrupted. Her stomach growled but wasn't sure if it could handle being filled. As she entered the kitchen she saw Jean stirring a pot at the stove and Kurt sitting on the counter talking on the phone.

"Veally?" he was saying. He laughed weakly, "Thanks Jubes, I need to hear zhat... Yes...ve all are...but ve'll be all vight...Yeah, I know. At least I still have Jean and Rogue. Have you gone to see Bobby and Sam? Same condition, huh. I talked to Kitty a few minutes ago. She's scared but fine. Her parents aren't letting her out of the house..."

Rogue grabbed a can of soda from the fridge and sat at the table. She took tiny sips as Jean continued to cook. She suddenly felt tired.

"I like the look, Rogue," Jean said softly. She set a basket of dinner rolls on the table and sat down beside her. "You look pretty like that. Your eyes show more."

"Thanks," was all Rogue could think to say.

Jean looked tired. Her perfect hair was unbrushed and hung in wispy thin locks. Her usually bright green eyes had lost their glow and slight circles could be seen under them. She massaged her face with her hands and released a somnolent breath. "I'm making beef stew," she said. "You guys like the meat soft, right? It'll need to simmer for a bit. Oh, I forgot the butter." She got up and walked to the refrigerator.

Rogue saw what she was doing, keeping her hands busy so her mind could not wander too much.

"Why don't I make something more solid, too?" Jean asked no one in particular. "Soup is very...not solid...and maybe we need something sturdy right now. Maybe some meatloaf or stirfry. Jubilee sure could cook a mean stirfry. I loved the way she mixed soy sauce and olive oil. Such exotic tastes." She found the butter and set it on counter. Then she returned to staring into the fridge. "Wish Bobby was here to make us some ice smoothies. We don't even have any ice cream left. And Amara knew how to bake old-fashioned Nova Roman bread. Loved that. And...um..." She sniffed, rubbed her eyes. "And Ororo made those African dishes every once in a while...they tasted weird at first but then it grows on you..." She took a shaky breath and calmed herself. She closed the refrigerator and lifted the lid off the pot of stew. She stirred it.

Seeing her sadness, her worry, reminded Rogue of the things she was feeling. She would rather bury those emotions so they couldn't affect her, couldn't make her the way they were making Jean. The psyches were quieter now having sensed the dire situation. Instead of screaming at Rogue they merely gave cautioned whispers, urgent mutters.

_She'll come again, we must be careful._

_You can't let her take us. We don't want to leave that way._

_Please, please, I'm so scared. Oh, God, I'm so scared._

Kurt hung up finally and took a stretch. He scratched his head and pulled his knees up to his chest as he continued to sit on the counter. "Vell, I've called everyone. They all know vhat's up." He looked at the girls, his only remaining companions. "Vhat's for dinner?"

"Beef stew and rolls," Jean said from the stove. "Unless you want something more solid?"

"Beef stew and volls sounds good," Kurt said, moving to sit with Rogue at the table. He twiddled his triplet fingers, yellow eyes staring at the movement. Then his head popped up and he looked around. "Hey, vhere's Gambit?"

Rogue stiffened. Jean said, "I never knew that guy could cook such great Cajun food. You guys had his jumbalaya that night. Wasn't it good?"

"Yes, it vas, actually," Kurt agreed.

Rogue's hand tightened around her soda can. The aluminum crinkled in her clutch. "He left," she gritted.

Kurt turned to look at her, "He did? Vithout even telling us?"

Rogue nodded, a disdainful smirk playing over her hard features. "Yup. But what else can we expect, right? He is a thief and Acolyte, after all."

"I thought you liked him, Rogue," Jean said, rummaging around the cupboards for bowls. "You guys seemed to be on friendly terms this past week." It was a little disconcerting to see how she spoke without any expression on her face. Maybe her muscles were too tired to work.

Rogue began to wonder how much stiffer her own body could get. "Well, ya thought wrong, Red. He's just a no-good, unappreciative, reckless swamp rat that doesn't give a damn about anybody but himself."

Kurt frowned, "He didn't even thank us for helping him. Vhat a jerk."

"Couldn't agree more," Rogue nodded. She took a long gulp of soda, feeling the carbonated liquid burn her throat. She drank again, wishing it would scald her, wishing it would burn away her fear, doubt, and confusion.

After the soup was done Jean ladled them each a bowl. She handed them spoons then sat down and began spreading butter over a dinner roll. They ate tiny bites in thick silence. Then Kurt said, "Ve need a plan."

"Plan for what?" Jean asked.

"For anything! Find the Professor, help the others. Something..." He did not seem so sure and stared at his stew. "Ve can't just sit around like this and vait for it to come back and finish us off."

"Don't say things like that, Kurt," Jean murmured. "There's hope at least. I was attacking it with psychic blasts and it seemed to be affected. I'll be ready the next time. I'll be ready."

"How is Lance?" Kurt wanted to know.

None of them had wanted to acknowledge his weakening condition. His body was slowly failing, the IVs and care unable to bolster his health. It was the after effect of the coma, the next stage, the irreversible state.

"He's still...resting," Jean said carefully. "I've been monitoring them all and, uh..." Her discomfort was obvious. "The earlier ones...they're getting weaker."

Rogue sat quietly contemplating as she spooned stew into her mouth, half listening to her friends' discussion. She was supposed to care about Amara, Hank, Tabitha, and Scott--even Wanda and Lance to some degree. She should have been hanging onto their every word. But she wasn't--because she couldn't--because all her thoughts revolved around one undependable, ammoral, uncaring Acolyte who would do the very things expected of him. Drop everything without even a "bye", "thank you", or "I'll miss you" and disappear. Just gone. So simple. So expectable.

Didn't they at least understand each other, at least have a worthy friendship at this point? Hadn't the night on the roof meant anything? What about the day he sat at her bedside and they had such a wholesome conversation? And their night out at dinner? Or had she just imagined the strange sparks. Had it all been of her own conceiving? Wouldn't be the first time to walk out for a snake-charmer like him anyway. Girls fell all over him, willingly. Jubilee did, Amara did, Rahne did, even Jean to some extent. And they didn't mean anything to him. The femmes were never more than temporary pleasures to be discarded. Why should _she_ be any different. _She_ was a waste of time because of her skin. Her poisonous skin...  
_Sometimes hope is all y'have._ What if the hope was false?

"Rogue."

_Do y'hate y'self, Rogue? _No. Maybe. Yes.

"Rogue, your bowl is empty." Jean looked at her curiously, spoon half raised in the air. "Do you want me to get you more stew?"

"Oh," she said blankly. She looked down at the empty concave, hardly believing she'd eaten it all. There hadn't been much to begin with and she did not feel satisfied in the least. She didn't really care. "No, Ah'm fine. Actually, Ah think Ah'm gonna go for a walk."

Kurt's mouth was full of bread. "Vhat? At night, by yourzelf? It's not safe, Rogue. Lemme go vith you vhen I'm done."

"No, it's fine," Rogue frowned. "Ya don't need to." Before he could protest she left the kitchen and stalked through the halls. She pulled open the front doors and burst out into the night, breathing in the cool air. The summer was not as warm as usual, the weather as tweaked as her life. She shivered as she walked down the steps and sat down at the bottom. She hugged her knees.

So this was what it had come to. She was alone, as usual. Jean and Kurt were apart from her, as much as she hated to admit it. She sighed, closed her eyes. Disappointment during the early stages was always better. It was a good thing it happened before her expectations became too high.

It was a very good thing.

Right.

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**Just to clarify a few points,** Remy isn't being an abandoning jerk or anything. He has this instinct you see, and being the type of person he is, he follows his instincts. It is those gut intuitions that lead him through life, and more of than not, help him make the right decisions.

As for Rogue, well, I'd just feel like crap if I was her. I would feel abandoned--wouldn't you? But she's a tough gal, had to deal with a whole lot at a young age. She's older than her years and it's this maturity that pulls her through. But the tough moments are just beginning. We'll see if she can withstand the pressure**.**

**And so we leave on a less-than-pleasant, bittersweet, and angst-filled note.** But don't despair just yet, because it only gets worse from here on out. LOL, I'm sorry. I think I really am some sort of masochist.

As for the sequel I mentioned earlier, I know it's kind of early to even be thinking of one but from the way this story is going to conclude, I'm pretty sure everybody would be really peeved if there wasn't one. I really have to stop hinting at things. But God, I can't help it! There's just so much!!

**Completely off-topic:** You guys hear of what happened with Jean Grey, Scott Summers, and Emma Frost in the comic X-Men? Oh my God, what's wrong with those Marvel people?? I don't want to say too much b/c of spoiling purposes, but GOD, if you know what I'm talking about then you know how heinous it is. Jean and Scott are supposed to be the parable of consistency and devotion and then all this...ick...I'm not exactly gung-ho about Jean and Scott but it's the ideals that matter. I really dislike Emma Frost now. I never really did like her--her and Warren Worthington. For some reason they get on my nerves. I think I'll just have to take it out in my fanficitions.

Anyway, better go before I hurt something.

**Next Chapter: Dreamscape**


	14. Dreamscape

**So many reviews and demands!** So here is the next chapter! The mystery is solved--well, part of it anyway. Hopefully after reading this chapter you may go back to the previous ones and understand why and how things happened the way they did.

**And it's so interesting** to see how so many people want to know what's been happening with the Professor, Logan, and Storm. I didn't put too much emphasis on them--they were basically for the subplot and there to add to the mystery. But, hey, this is a Rogue/Remy story right? Nevertheless, they have already been written in for the plot.

**Allie:** Rhyme and Reason is one of my favorite chapters. Took me a few minutes to come up with a suitable title. And thank you! I pride myself on my writing skills. Now I just have to get focused enough on my original fiction to continue writing them. I've been neglecting those since I started this fanfic. Oops. **PomegranateQueen:** whoa, headmistress? What comic title did that happen in? And I thought she used to be in the Hellfire Club or something--what are they thinking?? **WerewolfLass:** I think you'll enjoy the chapter after the chapter after the next one--if I counted right, :D **Yersi Fanel:** Thanks, I try to make Remy as realistic as possible, in my viewpoint anyway. I hate the stories that put him so out of character. And dont' worry, this story is never going to go unfinished. **X2P3: **This story is based off the X-Men: Evolution TV show so all the X-Men are currently residing within the Xavier Institute and are basically teenagers. Rogue is 18 here because this story takes place right before the Ascension episodes (series finales)--and she's already graduated from high school. If you want more info on Evoultion, check out some of the websites that'll give a better background. And Mystique adopted Rogue but birthed Kurt. So far the victim count is: Lance, Scott, Amara, Tabitha, Scarlet Witch, Hank, Bobby, Sam...and I think that's it so far. **Sweety8587:** I loved the roof scene, too. It's so gratifying to write it then go back and realize how much I really like it. Will he be back? Well, you'll see in this chapter. As for the after-effects of the coma, the body is basically getting weaker after being drained so severely and can't function anymore. I'm sure I could come up with a science to it, but that's Seven Sunningdale's forte. I'm in this for the storytelling. I hate having to write Rogue angst because she's already been through so much, you know? But it's so much fun and necessary! **Flowerperson:** Are you British? Or am I wrong in thinking only British people say "go on holiday"? And as for Remy, well he HAS to return right? Otherwise he'd be a jerk and I would write him out of the story--God! Never going to happen considering how I love him so much. I think I might just swoon...** Hawkgal:** I said 'girl' last time, oops. Oh thank you, I hate the stories that put him way out of character. He's not a jerk, just maybe overly audacious at times. And you know what's freaky, I swear you read my mind... **Loneraven:** Remy will be back, he's like a boomerang when it comes to his favorite fille. **Blackrougefille:** so many people have asked about the Professor, Logan, and Storm! Didn't know there was so much curiosity, but it's been written in already. It's all in the making. And the story only gets better (or worse, depending on how you look at it) from here! **Kendokao: **Wasn't the roof scene sweet? Aww... And yes, all your questions will be answered, hopefully. I think I've planned things out thoroughly. Oh, can't wait for you guys to read the next chapters. It just gets more exciting!** Enchanted light:** here it is! **AriKitten:** Haha...I'm so wowed by your wows. Thank you so much in all my sincerity. I have put much effort into plot development and characterization, which then leaks into my writing style...I try to make this as real as possible because I've read so many stories that are...not. As for normal humans cooping up P,S, and L, you'll see what's happened here. Don't worry, many have picked apart the plot and I hate not being able to tell them anything otherwise I'd ruin the story! Agh. There's always fluff, how can there not be in a Rogue/Remy story? But only after heavy angst of course, because that's when it's really appreciated. **Freak87:** Way to catch my little suggetions. I wondered sometimes whether or not I was being too subtle. Hmm, I'll see. It is kinda funny thinking about a man in a wheelchair in a prison cell, haha, which is what we're going to see of course. Chained by the wall, hahahaha... Oh, God we're awful. The old X-Men series was heavily underrated. It was a great show. But I never got to see the ones in the late fourth season and fifth season! **Just me:** God, Emma Frost is just, heck no. And as for Remy leaving, I'd feel as Rogue felt, so sad. He probably should have said something, huh? But I decided not to just to make things more angsty. **Ishandahalf:** Oh, they are going to fall, all right. And yes, I think their relationship has evolved quite nicely! But love is undeniable between these two...ahh...More gold stars? I think I've run out of room for them. As for the sequel, I am absolutely itching to write it. But I haven't really developed a strong plot, just bits and pieces of scenes I want to include. Also with school starting in less than two weeks, ooh...I hope I don't run out of time for this!! It was an extremely good day for me to see that two of my favorite authors uploaded! I could hardly contain myself. Do it again! **Silky Black:** Actually, I think you're one of my most amusing reviewers. Your feelings have no deceived you. Lance is kind of the perfect bad boy now that I think on it, but Remy is...well, there are no words. I'm going to explore a little Lance and Kitty at the end of this story too. OhmyGod, I'm so glad someone agrees with me! Jean does get many unwarranted bashes in other fanfics and realistically, she's just not that type of person. Oh well. My writing skills? Thank you, it means so much! And I love long reviews! **SickmindedSucker:** Living up to your penname? LOL. Remy always has a reason for his actions and that is why I love his character--we'll see what other reasons he has for doing things later. And concerning Rogue, Remy is her...her comfort--but we'll see more of that in the chapter after the next one, I think. **Shockgoddess:** Thank God someone shares my fervor against Emma Frost, honestly, what is Marvel _thinking?_ And I really don't care for her own title series, too. How insulting. And I agree that happy stuff best comes after the angst--that way it's much more appreciated! **Zen Master White Dragon:** Thanks for writing review on both chapters, that was sweet and considerate. Alas, Remy is a little rash at times--but he'll make up for it later. I have zeal now? Thank you! As usual, I thoroughly enjoy and appreciate your objective opinion on my story. As for the ghostly figure being obsessed over Remy, I think I kind of took that from the comic version where the Green Mist Lady was inside Gambit and stuff...I think I've incorporated a lot of the comicverse into this story (they are very very subtle), and if not this one, then the next. And I hate Marvel Scott. Evo Scott is much more likeable, I mean, the stick up his butt isn't _that_ long. **Pixie stix addict:** That cookie was absolutely delicious, maybe Rogue should have brought of plate of those to Remy instead. Wait, Marvel gave Rogue and Gambit kids? Four? And as for Scott not being regretful over his stupid affair with Emma Frost--somebody kill him! Whatever happened to all that Jean devotion? What an ass! I really can't stand him or Emma Frost. Both are so, ugh, there are no wrods. And I am not even going to bother mentioning Emma Frost in my story because I don't think she's worth the page space.** Anda:** I don't want this fic to end either. And if you think this is exciting and the Rogue/Remy interactions are good now...just wait and see! **GWFreak315:** I love your LOVE 3x comment, LOL. You forgot your password? Unacceptable! Maybe this will inspire you to get back into the loop! Honestly, writing a fanfic seemed like a really bad idea, but seeing how it gives people so much pleasure, I just can't stop!

* * *

The base was quiet. Remy snuck in though he could have entered through the normal way. As he wandered through the metal halls, he could not hear a single sound. Where were Piotr's pounding strides? Pyro's maniacal laughter? Sabertooth's ornery growls? He knew Piotr had gone to Russia but had also returned for reasons unexplained. Nobody had to question the fate of Magneto. Remy wondered if Pyro still had the video footage.

He entered the stiff steel kitchen and found signs of usage. A few paper plates and cups were in the sink and he didn't bother to wonder why they weren't just disposed of. A half-eaten bag of potato chips sat on the metal table. The stove was on, turned to low heat, with a frying pan left on it. The pan was slowly being damaged while an attempt at scrambled eggs sat as a pile of blackened, nearly-yellow mush. Somebody had left in a hurry.

Suddenly a shout pricked at Remy's senses.

"Then what the hell do you think we should do??" Sabertooth snarled.

"Keep it down!" Piotr ordered.

"Why bother? The kid's out cold."

"Perhaps he is in a coma."

"Makes sense," came the gruff reply, louder as Remy drew closer. "All the other victims are. Wonder if that's what happened to ol' Gambit--damn it, boy, what's the matter with you?"

Piotr turned and his face brightened a minuscule bit at seeing a more likeable teammate. "Gambit, we thought you for dead."

"Yeah, an' I see how distraught y'are," Remy drawled. He looked around the room and noted the smell of burning. The floor and walls were charred black. It was fortunate most of their things at the base was metal. He wondered if Magneto did that on purpose, so he could have control of their environment. _Or maybe he jus' has no taste in decor._

Sabertooth managed to roll his eyes. He pointed a clawed finger at the Cajun, "Left us wonderin' what the hell happened to you. We thought you were as unlucky as the firefly." He huffed in Pyro's direction.

St. John lay on a cot in his uniform. His fuel tanks had been pulled off and left on the floor. He looked asleep, but Remy knew better.

"When'd dis happen?"

"A few hours ago," Piotr said. He scratched his Russian head and frowned. "We have received news that the X-Men are targeted. Is this true?"

Remy did not know how much he should tell them. If he discarded information, was that not betraying them? Betraying her? He shrugged, "Why y'askin' me?"

"Because we know you went to them," Sabertooth growled. "We didn't know where else to look. Spied on the mansion and saw you 'round a few times. Gettin' cozy with the enemy, eh?"

"Trust me, mon frere," Remy said. "Ain't dat cozy over dere. Suspicious looks, snappy comments, lame insults--ain't heaven dat's fo'sure. 'Sides, didn't have much choice considerin' y'guys aren't de best of medical professionals."

Piotr shrugged, "We are merely Acolytes, after all."

Sabertooth narrowed his eyes suspiciously, "What'd you do, Cajun? Piss off the wrong people?"

"T'say de least," Remy frowned. "But dat's my business."

"Suits me," Sabertooth grunted. "Now what we going to do 'bout Pyro? He's in a friggin' coma. Can we just leave him?"

Piotr did not like the idea. "He needs medical observation. Gambit, what about the X-Men. They helped you. Would they aid John?"

Remy honestly did not know. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I don' know...lemme think on dis for a bit."

He left them to continue arguing and went to the bathrooms. After a long shower he found a fresh uniform and changed into it. He folded the borrowed clothes, running the fingers along the collar. Shouldn't he take them back? He frowned, realizing how ridiculous it was that he'd think they would care about a set of borrowed garments.

Damn it. He had left them without notice, and thinking on that now, realized how stupid a choice that had been. The urgency at the time seemed to demand action, but now he was not so sure. Why would they care anyway? He wasn't one of them. He didn't owe them anything and they probably expected nothing less from him. Who cared about the ridiculous loyalty the X-Men had towards each other? Who cared about that sense of family? Who cared about...

Remy pulled on his boots and trench coat and left his room. Colossus and Sabertooth were still arguing over what to do with Pryo. He charged a card with minimal energy and let it explode to silence them. "Here's de plan," he said. "We take Pyro to de X-Men."

Piotr frowned dubiously, "And they will help the enemy?"

"Dey helped me, non?"

"I wish to help as well."

"Den maybe you can carry him for me."  
Sabertooth had different expressions running through his feral face. He scratched his chin, eyes focused in deep thought. Remy watched him warily. He had never really trusted the barbaric mercenary. Creed struck him as the type without morals or reserves of any form. The man would do anything for a price. He had no qualms, whether it was about crime or even killing. Such a person warranted suspicion.

He noticed Remy's askance visage and growled, "What?"

"Don't get any ideas" the Cajun told him. "Now ain't de best time t'be makin' trouble. You might even be de next victim and when y'want deir help, y'll want dem t'give it t'y'."

Sabertooth narrowed his eyes, sneering mockingly. "Since when'd you become such a righteous prick? Stay with them too long? X-Men values on life and conduct rubbin' off of you?"

"Shut it, Creed. Piotr, pick John up. We're..." Remy gasped, taking a step back.

Sabertooth growled in irritation, "What's your game, Cajun?"

She was there, hovering over John's body. Her misty hands reached out and caressed his face. Bright twinkles lit her eyes as she smiled. She looked at Remy and her eyes softened, her lips unmoving as she spoke to him in his mind. _He's a very merry fellow. You liked that about him, yes?_

Remy continued to stare in captivated silence. She was like a dream, a horrible, beautiful dream.

_His mind is like a whirligig of simply happy thoughts. You know how people always say in bad times "Find a happy place"? Mister St. John Allerdyce is all happy place. Makes me want to laugh..._

"Who are you?" Remy asked, finding his voice. "What do you want?"

_A life,_ the smoky figure replied. _Happiness, success, love--what does anybody want?_

Sabertooth exchanged looks with Piotr. "Is he losin' it?"

Piotr shrugged.

She floated away from Pyro, twirling weightlessly in the air, eyes closed. Then she fluffed up her wispy hair and drifted down to Remy, right in front of him. She smiled with translucent lips. _Am I beautiful, Remy? Do you think I'm pretty?_ When he did not reply she reached out to stroke his face. All he felt was air. _It's so hard having to be like this, to feed like this...._ She lowered her eyes, sad. _People like us just can't find peace, can we? _Her mood cheered as she realized something. _But we're the same in that way, right Remy? We're both so troubled... But don't worry, I'll always be there for you. You'll always have me to love you. _

Remy shook his head.

She scowled, narrowing her eyes. _Not good enough for you, LeBeau?_ _Or is it you're too occupied by the skunk headed girl? You can't even touch her. She is intriguing though...even I'm a bit taken with her... _

"Dis ain't 'bout Rogue_,"_ he said. "Dis is 'bout you killin' people."

_But I don't kill them,_ she cooed. _They just sleep for a while..._

"An' den dey die. Y'think dat's right? Y'think dey deserve dat?"

Her ethereal face twisted angrily. She whipped away from him, screaming loudly in his head, _And what about me?! Don't I deserve anything? Aren't I important? My life was stolen from me!_ Her lurid eyes flicked towards the tall Russian and a smirk played across her mouth. _Never been to Moscow before..._

"No," Remy said.

_How will you stop me?_ And she dove at Piotr.

Remy could tell when Piotr was able to see her. The Russian's eyes widened in surprise, then as the ghost made herself look as terrifying as possible he began shouting and yelling in alarm.

Sabertooth growled warily, switching into a fighting stance. "What is it? What the hell you screaming about?"

"Stop it!" Remy shouted.

Her hands, now semblances of claws, snatched at Piotr. She shrieked in his face, baring fangs behind an evil and twisted mouth. A serpentine tongue whipped dangerously beyond cracked lips. He squirmed in fright and horror. To the unseeing eye, it looked as though he had gone mad. And then she began the absorption, slow and painful. She turned to leer at Remy, eyes wide and monstrous in the most unnatural way. This was the face she showed her victims. This was the face she wanted them to fear.

She was draining him, draining his friend. Remy stared in horrified awe. Even Rogue never did it by creating so much fear, so much suffering. He wasn't thinking. He lunged forward, reaching for her ghostly hands. He went right through. But then something happened he did not expect. She whirled at him, terrifying fury focused on a new target. She screamed and flew directly towards him.

Cold. There was nothing but cold. Then a wracking pain in his head, like the burning and crumbling of his skull. He tried to yell but found he couldn't. Then just as suddenly as it began, it stopped. He opened his eyes.

"So this is your mind."

Remy spun around and saw a young woman standing beside him. They were the only two in a wide expanse of empty black space. "Who are you?"

She settled him with a dubious look, "You're kidding me right?" When he continued to gawk she rolled her eyes, pushing back long locks of curly black hair. "I'm called Annabel," she said. "Don't you think that's a pretty name?"

Remy blinked and looked around. He was no longer at the base, or was he? "What did y'do t'me?" he demanded.

Annabel ignored his question. "A few of the people I absorbed, they love Poe. I've never read his stuff, personally. One mutant girl had memorized _Annabel Lee_. Do you know that poem?"

Remy slowly shook his head. He looked at his hands, able to see them though there was clearly no light where they were. This was not real. He had to be dreaming. Or something. What was the first thing she had said? _So this is your mind._ They were inside his head?

"It's a horribly sad poem, about a dead girl," Annabel sighed. "But I guess that fits me, huh? Good as dead." She walked around the void surrounding them. "This can't possibly be what your mind looks like all the time. Why do you hide away your memories? Wait, I already know, so telepaths like Charles Xavier have a harder time picking around your thoughts--right?" She smiled prettily at him. "And hell knows you don't want people knowing about you."

Remy glared at her, "How'd y'get in here anyway?"

"I'm a telepath, too," she said proudly, "not just a soul-sucking vampire. And I find it interesting how you try so hard to hide your past. It isn't _that_ mortifying. But people these days, always so paranoid about themselves and too conceited to realize there are bigger problems in the world. And if you ask me--"

"I didn't," he bit off. This was the girl, the phantom, that had drained so many mutants, killed some, and yet she was standing there in _his_ mind, trying to have a conversation. She was almost lecturing him. It was utterly ridiculous.

"--you should feel lucky to even have a past to worry about," she continued. "I never got a chance to live."

Unsure what to make of anything, Remy realized it would be safe to just play along, humor the girl. He knew she could very well put him into a coma, just as she readily did others. "You've never had a chance to live," he said.

Annabel nodded sadly. "Even if I did, wouldn't be much of a life anyway... Without mutants, I'd die." Her eyes landed on her raised hands, stared at them in disgust. "I steal their souls...their minds...their powers... Some have the best memories, lives so happy I want to kill them out of envy. Others...less fortunate." She dropped her hands and looked around. "You could at least _try_ to make this place more friendly for a guest."

"You," Remy said, raising an eyebrow, "are an intruder."

She laughed, "Oh, Remy, you're such a funny guy. No wonder she's so smitten with you. You know, nobody's ever gotten away from me. You're the first. That's why I'm saving you, Remy. You're going to be my special friend."

"How?" he wanted to know. "Y'were killin' me wit'out prejudice b'fore. An' why can I see y' when only de victims can?"

"Because I'm letting you," Annabel rolled her eyes. "And as for absorbing you, I'm glad I didn't." She smiled kindly, "Even the little bit I got showed me what a great guy you are. Most people don't realize that you're such a gentleman, such a romantic--huh? You're quite the amusing character, Remy LeBeau--haunted, but still amusing. You would have been my choice for a boyfriend, you know. And I would have finished the job if that idiot Assassin hadn't knocked you upside the head. You blacked out and I couldn't get in anymore. You've got to be awake--otherwise I'd just absorb people in their sleep and life would be filled with less screams of terror."

"Dose screams are 'cause of you, cherie," Remy told her. "Y'make y'self look terrifying jus' t'scare dem more."

Annabel smiled guiltily, "If I didn't, where's the fun?" Her blue irises twinkled. "It isn't enough that absorbing them makes me happy, makes me feel alive... Their experiences become mine and the more I get, the better I feel. It's like a drug." She sighed wistfully. "And I need more and more as time goes on...Why not give them a scare to keep the world interesting?" She laughed like a giddy child, "I'm all over the news, Remy! It's fun being so notorious."

"Are you a ghost?" Remy asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Please. That's such a ridiculous hypothesis. I thought people were less suspicious these days. I'm a friggin' mutant, moron, can't you tell?"

Remy scowled, not enjoying her unfriendly manner. "You're Wraith," he said carefully and watched the flicker of emotion in her pale eyes. "Y'real name is Patricia Velkonnen an' y'went around killin' people in Europe. Now you jus' put dem in a coma. Why de sudden change o'heart?"

Annabel glared at her feet. "Leave it alone," she tightly.

"The Professor wants t'help you," Remy continued. "De first time, when he caused de fire and y'got hurt, he didn't mean fo'it t'happen like dat. Why are y'so ghost-like? If dere's somet'ing wrong wit' y'body, dey'll try an' help you."

Annabel shook her head furiously, luscious black curls flailing. "Shut up! I don't want to hear it!" She cupped her hands over her ears.

Remy grabbed her shoulders, twisted her around to face him. She looked frightened, like a lost little girl despite the maturity of her age. He could feel her sadness, anger, and contempt. It was unsettling how empathetic he was at the moment. "Let de Professor help--do y'know where dey are? Dey haven't contacted de mansion in days--what'd y'do t'dem?"

"I didn't do anything!" Annabel screeched. "And you don't understand!" She pounded his chest with her dainty hands. "Nobody understands what this is like! Nobody knows what I've been through!"

"Patricia," Remy said gently. "If y'tell dem dey'll understand, dey'll only wan' t'help. All y' got t'do is stop absorbin' people fo' a lil' while. Give de Professor an' de X-Men time t'figure out a way through dis. Y'don' find people like dem very often, ones dat'll help wit'out askin' fo' anyt'ing in return." It was almost comical how he was the one giving such a speech.

A sob escaped her throat and she wiped away tears. "No...it's not what you think..." She looked at him with heartbreaking eyes. She drew a shaky breath, "I don't want to hurt people. I have to...or I'll die."

Remy felt like he was trying to console a small child. "Dere's always anot'er way, Patricia. Always."

Suddenly her sad demeanor melted away. Fury flashed in her eyes and she grabbed him by the collars of his trench coat. "Don't. Call. Me. Patricia!" she screamed, and threw him violently aside. Her physical form began to dissolve, evaporating into the wispy vapors of her ghostly mien. _I will never be her! I will never be Wraith! _Her misty hands clutched at a gossamer head. _I hate her! I hate her! I hate her!_

"Annabel," Remy called, seeing how she detested the alternative name. "Calm down--"

_No!_ she shrieked._You don't know! You don't know!_ She began screaming, long wails of frustration and anger that echoed along the walls of Remy's mind.

He cried out from the pain, his and hers alike. She was hurting, badly, and it was affecting him as well. Her self-hate vibrated throughout his mind. "I won't know unless y'tell me, p'tite!" he shouted above her wracking cacophony. "Please--stop dis!"

_I will not be her! _the ghost continued to screech. _I will not be Patricia! I am not a Velkonnen! I am not Wraith! I hate her!_

How was he supposed to help her if she would not listen? How could he fix this? He knew he was the only one that could do it. He was the sole person she was willing to talk to. Clutching his head painfully, he stumbled onto his feet and tried to reach her. "Annabel, listen t'me. I'm y'friend. I wan' t'help you."

_You can't help me! I'm good as dead! Theo makes sure of it! I hate this! I'll kill him! I hate her--this is all her fault!_

With a great flash of light Remy was blinded and the pain increased tenfold. Then he was no longer in his own mind. He felt rough hands slapping his face and jerked agonizingly awake. He charged a card by instinct, holding it menacingly at Sabertooth.

The big feline stepped back, hands up, "I ain't the one going insane, Gumbo. Put the card down."

Remy groaned as he uncharged the card. He rubbed his head, waiting for his eyes to focus properly. A horrible migraine throbbed all over his skull. "Piotr," he croaked. "Where's Piotr?"

Sabertooth growled, "Comatose. You've been out for eight hours, Cajun. What's going on here? Everybody lost it?"

Remy struggled onto his feet, reminding himself to slap Sabertooth later for leaving him on the floor. He saw the unconscious Russian. He massaged his temples, trying to focus enough to think. The feelings Annabel gave him had not dissipated. He shuddered, remembering her anger and sadness, remembering her hopeless despair. She was not a heartless mutant predator.

_I don't want to hurt people. I have to...or I'll die._

_I will never be her! I hate her!_

_I'm as good as dead! Theo makes sure of it!_

Realization crept upon him, cold and unrelenting. His eyes flashed with urgency. "Creed, pick up Piotr an' get him in a car. I'll take John."

"Why?" Sabertooth demanded. He did not take orders from anybody unless he was being paid.

"M'takin' dem t'de Institute," Remy said, eyes hard. He did not have time to deal with Creed's authority issues. "Unless y'want t'have two bodies t'look after, y'gon' help me haul dem outta here."

Sabertooth glared ferociously. But he only growled in irritation before moving to pick up Piotr's bulky form. Remy followed, dragging Pyro. They loaded one of the base's vans and Remy got in the driver's seat.

Sabertooth slammed the door shut and peered suspiciously at his teammate. "Don't know what you're playin' at, Gambit, but you better not do anything stupid." With another insolent growl he stalked back to the base.

Remy disregarded his comment and revved the engine. He was going to have a hell of a time explaining this to the X-Men.

* * *

Discomfort was too gentle a word to describe the feeling. Along with a pounding in the head, her neck was stiff and sore. Her shoulders felt as though they had been held for extended periods of time to freezing ice. She shivered and rolled onto her stomach, which stung with hunger. Her legs had fallen asleep. She shook them numbly and tried to sit up.

"Easy, 'Ro, you'll get a head rush."

Ororo blinked until her eyes adjusted to the darkness. "Logan," she sighed in relief. Her hands felt rough stone floor. She had been sleeping on it. Her muscles screamed with aching. "How long have I been out?" They were in a bare room without windows with stone walls. A pitifully dim light bulb provided minuscule light.

"Few days."

"Days!" she exclaimed and immediately wished she hadn't. Her hand found her head, trying to massage peace into the throbbing veins. "How..."

Logan sat, leaning against the hard wall, knees angled up and his arms resting on them. He sniffed irritably, "The Count's goons pumped us good with tranquilizers. Strong ones, too. Could've been used on a horse." He rubbed his neck and it was then Ororo noticed a strange metal collar around it.

She felt a similar one around her throat and stared down at the glowing blue light.

"It negates our powers," came Xavier's voice.

Ororo turned and was relieved to see the Professor sitting in his wheelchair. "Charles, are you all right?"

"I awoke a few hours ago," he said softly, hands clasped before him. A collar of the same metal design and fervent light also clasped his throat. "There is food by the wall if you are hungry."

Ororo did not hesitate to take the offer. She crawled over to the tray under the light bulb. It was laiden with water bottles, bowls, and Thermoses filled with soup.

"At least they take care of their prisoners," Logan said dryly. "You even get an escort to the bathroom. Armed and unfriendly."

"Why are they keeping us here?" Ororo asked. "I cannot recall what happened..." She frowned, rubbing her temples.

Xavier sighed, a troubled expression on his sagely face. "There is something I wish to share," he said. "I've been waiting for you to awake, Ororo."

Logan frowned, "What is it?"

"I had the chance to see into the Count's mind," the Professor said, "before the tranquilizer hit me. It seems that we have been wrong all along about Wraith."

Ororo exchanged dubious glances with Logan. "But how?" she asked. "The method of attack, your connection from the past...The Count even said it himself..."

Xavier sighed tiredly, "We were so keen to believe what we wanted. We overlooked the subtle trifles... Perhaps the Count is right, we do not see anything save what is right before our noses." He shook his head before continuing, "When we confronted him, we were talking about two different people--both parties referring to them as 'her'."

"What else would it be, 'he'?" Logan grumbled.

Xavier shook his head patiently. He understood the man's frustration. "It is not Patricia Velkonnen that has been terrorizing mutants."

Ororo's blue eyes widened, "What?"

"Wraith is dead," Xavier continued solemnly. "She has been dead for ten years, perished in the fire. They uncovered her remains near the woods where she had crawled. She was a very strong woman..." His eyes seemed to cloud over by the troubling thoughts. "The Count buried her in the family cemetery, where she has been dormant all these years."

Confusion was apparent upon Ororo's and Logan's faces. "How can that be true--"

"We failed to see that the Count is not protecting his wife," Xavier continued, "but someone else, someone just as precious to him. He keeps her in the States, away from Wraith's troubling past, and provides generous monetary support."

Logan and Ororo waited tensely for the Professor to continue.

"Wraith is not the only vampire mutant," he said tiredly. "She had a daughter before she died. A daughter..." He shook his head, hand covering his eyes.

Ororo suddenly lost her appetite. She looked at Logan, who appeared just as dumbfounded. They had been wrong all along. They had left the mansion into a trap, and now their X-Men were abandoned to deal with the consequences.

_Oh, by the Goddess,_ Ororo thought fearfully. _What will happen to the children now?_

* * *

**I am so far ahead in writing than what is posted. The chapters** just have to be edited to make sure I'm sticking with the flow of the plot and development of the characters. Plus, I tend to change my mind about things or add in new stuff so I have to be careful about updating. But rest assured it's going to be great! Kinda funny actually, seeing how I read reviews about the earlier chapters and get confused because from my vantage point, so much more stuff has happened. I can't wait to give you guys the rest of this story! Ooh, it's killing me.

**I can't believe **I've received so many reviews!! I'm so excited that everybody is loving this fic! Reading all of your reviews seriously sends escstatis giggles up my throat--I feel like a giggly little school girl (which I kind of am, except for the giggly part). Reviews are something, huh? They're the only things that make me giggle like that--well, except for a guy of course. And if only I could find one just like Remy...sigh...

**So if you want to give a humble girl** some moments of giggly happiness, write more reviews as a **minor tribute** to her literary efforts. ;-)

**Next Chapter: Distress **

I am restraining my fingers from giving away hints...oh, it's hard...


	15. Distress

**

* * *

Da tru count:** Hey! I _just_ noticed your pm from the Gambit Guild. I know you wrote it a week ago but I thought I'd reply at least. Why don't you review on ?? It'll mean a whole bunch to me. And no, not corny at all. Funny thing is, I saw your name and thought it was the subject title and then thought you were referring to Count Velkonnen in this story and...heh, it was all sorts of confusing. Keep reading and review!**Epona04:** one of the best? You're my favorite person for the day. Good that you love reading it because I love writing it! **Hawkgal: **I have to wonder how you knew! So intuitive I guess. Ah, don't worry, Sabertooth isn't going to the school. I was going to write that in just to have a little more angst but then I decided it'd be too much and I didn't care much for the feline anyway. I have no idea what Storm's religion is. But she always refers to a goddess in comic books and stuff so, eh. **Ninjamonkey:** your absolute favorite? You're also my favorite person for the day. **Sweety8587:** oh, my sweet sweet 8587! As usually your reviews give me the smileys. And loving the review-while-you-read thing. Very effective with getting a point across. Yes, Annabel is the daughter of Wraith--shocking, ain't it? If you think this is good, you'll absolutely love the upcoming angst. **Rogue07:** I do not believe I've seen you here before, good! Always nice to have new reviewers! Hope you keep loving this story, I think it's just getting better. **Zen Master White Dragon:** Moaning Myrtle? Hahaha, I got a kick out of that my Zen friend. Uncouth indeed, but Annabel is a bitter girl after all she's been through, I would be especially pissed off and ornery if I was her. As for my dedication, I just have this undying urge to get this story written and shared--it's like an ansty need. Very uncanny. And Sabertooth, we'll, he's just...Sabertooth. Grizzly does kind of fit him better--he isn't graceful enough to live up to his title, but he LOOks like the name--make sense? OC Lin, what's that? Supernatural stuff is hard to pin, this is kinda half-way inbetween...sort of... Good point with the Remy not owing them anything--didn't think of the saving his life part. I'm going back to my already-written chapters to edit, thanks for the alert! I thought I caught all little nitches and strings to tie em up as the story goes on--alas, can't be perfect. I'm original! Yay! I was afraid this would end up like all the other hokey fanfics that got on my nerves. Maybe my overly critical viewpoint has done some good, hmm? High expectations for myself produce good results! **Freak87:** Is 87 a fav number among ppl? I see it pop up a lot in pennames. I use it cuz I was born in that year. Hmm, curious. Anyway, poor Annabel and her messed up head. She's angry, sick, sad, and every little nasty feeling you can think of. Prof in the wheelchair, still funny ha a ha.... If you DO get news of the Xmen DVDs, let me know--I'm really curious about the later seasons of the '90s version. And oh, I know! The old animations are so weird looking--makes you wonder what they were thinking! I crack up when I see it too. **Silky black:** Patricia had Annabel some years before she died (which was probably when she was in her late thirties or forties--too lazy to do the math right now--old huh?) But you'll find out all those little facts in later chapters. I think I've been careful in including the necessary information for better undestanding of this oh-so complex tale. So Annabel is around 17. Yeah, the whole mindscape idea is very abstract. I don't bother with explaining it because people can make up their own explanations. I like Pyro too--do you know why he's called _Saint_ John? Speaking of jeans, I need to go shopping for school clothes--but I'm going to wait until the associate sale at JCPenney (where I work) bc then I get can 35% off everything!! God, I love clothes. I don't feel right unless I'm wearing something that looks good. **Just me:** wasn't the daughter thing a nice twist? You were all led to believing one thing but then it was really another--makes me wish I was a reader instead of the writer because I love those kinds of surprises. And Rogue's reaction will be less than happy bc, well, you'll see here. **Ishandahalf:** If you or Seven Sunningdale don't update soon, I'll faint. Seven said she's update in less than a week, so you have also have a deadline, Ish!! You guessed it huh? There was one other reader who guessed it was her daughter, Hawkgal's intuition was frightening. You should feel sorry Annabel, I do. She's a heartbreaking one and you'll see why later. Remy preaching, after all he's done, ha. **Pixie stix addict:** Scott and Emma for 4 kids--HAH! What, are they all little blond bimbos like Frost? Ghostie and Remy having kids---hahahaha, wouldn't that be interesting--but no, too much. Can't do that to poor Rogue especailly after what's going to happen in this chapter and the next and the next...ooh...sorry! I keep getting tempted for spoilers! Must stop. **WerewolfLass:** I'm fidgeting, need to type more chapters... **PomegranateQueen:** Marvel has way too many titles and things are so complicating! And more's comin'. **Roguey:** Oh, it was confusing at first? Hmm...but you get it now so that's good. Don't forget to come back and read the next chapter. **Yersi Fanel:** Thank you! I try not to trap myself in a corner plot-wise. It's a little difficult to remember all the little details because sometimes I later I forget things or contradict myself--then I have to go back and change it and uugghh..but it's worth it yes?** Princess:** Glad you like it so much. I hope this update wasn't too tardy. I've gotten lots of exclaimations, but I don't think I've seen any "omg"s. Haha. **Enchanted light:** short and sweet as usual, thank you** fudgebrowne:** everybody is loving this! I'm so happy that this is such a hit. And there's more suspense coming up--I can't help the cliffhanger chapters **skyangle2004:** A new reviewer, cool. Don't worry over the X-Men too much. If the story ended with a sad ending lots of ppl would be peeved, and so would I--but since I call the shots here...oh, the control if gratifying. **Blackrougefillie:** Your favorite of all time? Wow! You're also my new favorite person for a day. Yes the SLX update was a little bit overdue, but I got so sidetracked with Rogue and Gambit that the subplot hardly had place in my mind. Oh, well, on with the love. Edit faster? Hahaha, compared to the other writers I'm like Pietro. **Kendokao:** see? I said all the loose strings would eventually tie up. :P **CatStar14:** You're about the #th (can't recall the exact number) reviewer who's said I write well, but it's still as gratifying every time. I swear I'll never get sick of hearing it. Hopefully all this brain activity will help me ace my SATIIs! I think you're going to keep loving this bc...ooh, can't spoil my own plot! **Totally Obsessed 47:** yay, you're back--what a treat. If I got to read 3 chapters straight of updates I've been waiting for...how convienent. Has it already been a week? Oh, God school stars in like ten days or something--shoot me now. Hope this update wasn't too especiallly tardy. **Anda:** Genius--Gold, somehow those two are related but I can't remember how, lol. It's unbelievable too? I'm going to make it even more unbelievable just for you! 

**Okay so maybe I shouldn't be writing such long review replies **because it takes up soooo much space on the screen, but it's like a must. And don't you guys like having a reply?

**Here is the next chapter! **I know this got up later than I usually update but--hey--compared to other writers out there I'm like a speed demon. I just realized school will be starting and I'm going to be a lot busier, so just as a pre-warning, updates MIGHT be just a LITTLE bit slower, but I will not keep you waiting too long.

**And hmm...**anything else I need to add...nope.

* * *

Jean clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide and watery. She struggled to choke back the sobs, shaking her head violently.

Rogue stared, completely still. She heard the redhead's fight for breath but couldn't quite register the action. Was this real? Was this truly happening? She seemed to ask herself that a lot these days. She shook her head, the psyches boiling in her mind, panicked. They had been screaming moments before, and that was how she had known to come, but now she only felt their fear, their sickenly horrible dread.

_She teases us,_ they whispered, _and you don't know because we aren't you._

_She comes, all the time she comes..._

_We'll be taken--don't let her take us..._

The tension of the last few days was finally beginning to be too much for Jean. She had been bottling it all up, distracting herself, telling herself to have hope and that things would work out. But now her hope was cracked; she was pushed to the edge with the final blow. She allowed herself to fall to the floor, hands covering her pretty face, and wept.

Kurt lay in his bedroom, half on the bed, half on the floor. His head rested against the side of his mattress and his mouth sat agap. He breathed shallowly. His panicked cries from moments earlier were gone, leaving a silent room thick with trepidation. So unexpected, so sudden. They had not anticipated another attack so soon. Not so soon...

Rogue bit back the urge to scream. Her eyes flashed to Jean, to Kurt, back to Jean. She couldn't think. What were they supposed to do with him now? Think, think... Oh, yes. She bent down and hefted Kurt's lean frame into her arms. She began dragging him by herself towards the door, blinking back tears. This _couldn't_ be happening. Her brother was taken...Her brother. The only one who seemed confident they would make it through this.

Her strength faltered and her grip loosened. She stumbled in the hall and fell with Kurt in her arms. Her skin brushed against his but she didn't absorb him. Of course not. There was nothing there to absorb.

Jean was there the next moment, helping her up. Then they both carried Kurt down to the Infirmary. The two young women stood back, gazing at their comatose friends. Neither knew how long they lingered.

Rogue was disgusted with the world. She had been through so much already--why did this have to happen? Why her friends? She didn't care if her thoughts were selfish, unable to differentiate between her own or that of the frenzied psyches. She collapsed at Kurt's beside and buried her face in the bleached sheets. Numbness took over and she couldn't stand being there anymore. She shook her head, feeling the anger, frustration, and fear of hundreds of different personalities. What did _she_ feel? What were _her_ thoughts on the matter?

"Rogue?" Jean said. She sniffed and wiped at her face. "We have to--we have..." She took a breath, stifling the sobs. "Maybe we should call for help--"

Help? Who was there to call for help? The Professor, Logan, and Storm were gone, lost to them with fates unknown. Who else did they have? Rogue stood suddenly and ran out of the Infirmary. She needed to get away. She just needed to get away.

* * *

Blowing up the front gate probably wasn't the best of ideas, but he was low on patience. He sped up the long driveway to the Institute, charging cards and tossing them at the various laser cannons emerging from the ground.

_Dis is too much action fo' a summer afternoon,_ he thought bitterly.

When he circled the roundabout and screeched to a stop, the mansion's defense systems had been shut off, much to his surprise. He leapt out of the van and pulled open the doors. Piotr had sprawled onto the floor with John in a twisted position upon the seats. Remy reminded himself to apologize for their bruises later. He was hefting John out when the front doors of the mansion swung open. He had dreaded this moment.

But it was Jean. She stood, tear-streaked face gaping in shock. "You left!" She pointed an accusing finger at him. "You jerk! After how much we helped you... I should have just let those guns blow you up--" She stopped, seeing Pyro's motionless form.

"Kinda need a lil' help," Remy said. "It got dem, too."

The redhead suddenly looked very, very tired. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and came down the steps. Remy carried Pyro while Jean telekinetically lifted Piotr. As they worked to get the two situated in the Infirmary, Remy noticed the furry blue kid lying on a cot. He instinctively wondered where Rogue was.

Jean noticed the expression on his face, or sensed his worry with her powers. As she pulled a blanket over Piotr's chest she said, "We heard Kurt yelling from his room. When we got there he was...uh..." Her voice cracked and tears welled in her eyes.

Remy frowned apprehensively. Annabel was still doing it, still absorbing people. He put a hand on Jean's shoulder and was surprised when she turned to him, burying her face in his chest. He froze, unsure how to react.

"I miss Scott!" Jean cried, clinging to the folds of his jacket. "He'd know what to do right now. But he--he's dying, Gambit! Every day he's getting weaker and I--I can't do anything to help him!" Her sobs were heartbreaking.

Remy patted her back. She was shivering under her blouse. "It'll be all right, cherie," he said soothingly, "you'll see." He didn't have time for this. He had somewhere to be. The longer he tarried the worse their problems would get.

Something shifted at the doorway. He looked up and froze, a deep sinking feeling in his stomach.

Rogue stared at the scene, the barest trace of distress washing over her features. It was quickly replaced by a mask of indifference. Remy saw past it, saw her true thoughts behind those expressive eyes. Then he realized he was still holding Jean.

"Well, can't say Ah expected this," Rogue said. Her gaze flicked from Colossus to Pyro and back to the hugging couple.

He did not like her toneless words.

Jean lifted her head and Remy quickly stepped away from her. She wiped her eyes and sniffed, oblivious to the sudden tension. "Rogue? Where did you go? You just ran off and..." She shook her head and massaged her temples. "I need some aspirin." She wandered into the next room, fumbling around the cabinets.

Remy looked at Rogue, trying to read her expression. "Chere--"

She turned abruptly and walked out of the Infirmary.

Remy groaned in exasperation, running both hands through his hair. Why did everything have to be so difficult? He should just leave and deal with this later. Some things were just bigger than, more important than...

_Dan what, LeBeau?_ he asked himself, unwilling to answer.

"Damn it," he huffed and ran after her.

She was a fast walker, having already made it up the main staircase by the time he reached her.

"Rogue!" he called. She ignored him. Frowning, he scaled the steps deftly and grabbed her arm as she reached the landing. "Wasn't what it looked like."

"Sure it was," she said, twisting out of his hold. "Whenever a gal's in distress, Remy LeBeau is always there for comfort. Isn't that right?"

He stared at her, unsure of what to say. He took a breath, "Dat may've been true b'fore, chere, but..." His voice trailed away and he looked at her expectant face. Merde, why couldn't he find the words?

Rogue drew in a sharp breath and crossed her arms, "All the nerve you've got coming back here. In too much of a hurry to even leave a damn note?"

What reason did she have to be angry? Remy bristled, his confusion becoming more and more frustrating. "Should I have?" he demanded. "Do of any of you X-Men care where I go?" He waited in suffocating unease for her answer.

She didn't seem to be expecting his outburst, a flicker of doubt in her eyes. "Ah guess ya aren't one of us. You can go and do whatever, whenever... You have no obligation towards us...." She looked at the floor.

Remy stared at her hard. He wanted her to give him something, anything to work with, but she remained passive and apathetic. Maybe it was just a lost cause, a hope that never should have been.

"Not like there's anything keeping you here anyway," Rogue said softly, her resolve beginning to fall. Then she gasped quietly. A hand went to her temple and she winced, swaying slightly.

"Rogue..." Remy reached for her but she recoiled.

"Don't touch me," she hissed, stepping backwards. "Ah'm not going to be played by you, not again."

Remy did not want to admit how much her words stung. Did she really think he was playing her? Didn't she know he would never do that again?

She squeezed her eyes shut as the pain increased. The psyches were bothering her. "None of this means anything to you--not that day Ah was sick, not the dinner, not the roof--nothing in the whole time you've been here..." She leaned against the wall, fingers clutching her head. "Ya don't care--ya never do."

Remy watched her, not knowing what to say. What did he want to say? Somehow his thoughts wouldn't come together right. The only functional system in his body was feeding him feelings of self-disgust and guilt. He just wanted to hold her, keep her from falling, but he stood rooted to the spot. He could only stare at her in tremendous confusion. Then his next words were out before he realized it, "I don' have time fo' dis, Rogue. I have t'go see Theodore Farrat." He wanted to kick himself for saying it that way, for completely disregarding what she had just confessed.

Rogue stared at him blankly for a moment. "Who?"

"De man I was doin' a job for, when I got beaten up dat night an' came here," Remy explained. "I t'ink he's connected to all dis."

"Why?"

"'Cause de girl mentioned him, de ghost, de one who's been attacking mutants."

Rogue blinked several times, trying to make sense of what he was saying.

"She ain't de heartless murderer everybody t'inks," Remy continued. "De girl's scared an' angry 'cause somethin' happened t'her an' she can't get away from it. I t'ink Farrat's doin' somethin' t'her."

"So she just decides to suck the life outta all my friends," Rogue said coldly. "Oh, yeah, a real pity case."

Remy frowned at her, "Y'don' know, chere. Y'don' know what she's been through, what it's like t'live like she has to."

"Ah think Ah have an idea," Rogue said in a forlorn tone.

Remy winced. How could he be so thoughtless? Rogue's powers were similar to Anabelle's. He shook his head, combed his fingers through his hair. He wondered how many more times he could make himself look like an inconsiderate jerk. Maybe that was the problem--maybe he just _was_ an inconsiderate jerk. "Look, I got t'do dis. She needs m'help."

Rogue closed her eyes and turned away, "Of course she does."

"Rogue..."

She continued walking calmly down the hall and Remy didn't stop her. He had lingered too long already. Sparing one more glance in Rogue's direction, he turned and hurried down the stairs. The front door opened and closed.

Rogue stopped and slowly turned around. She looked at the floor. He was gone again.

* * *

**End Note:** It wasn't overly explained how Rogue's psyches know when Annabel is around. I don't think I get to it much, maybe I'll make a note of it in the later chapters--but basically they know because she pokes around with them. Annabel teases them inside Rogue's mind and since she's a telepath, can do so without Rogue knowing, because the psyches are separate entities from her. Annabel is simply fascinated by Rogue and their similar mutations. Make sense? Hmm...this was a little iffy but I'll see how it works.


	16. Mysterious Relations

**Yersi Fanel:** Yep...but poor Rogue. She's just a confused girl who's very very insecure. **Echanted light:** I don't know how much sooner these updates can keep coming. **Ms. Rogue LeBeau: **You basically have it all down. Annabel is Patricia's daughter (who inherited her mutant powers as well as developed some of her own) and Patricia is dead. Everyone thought she was behind the mutant attacks but that is not the case. So far anything else we know is that Theodore Farrat is somehow connected to all this. It'll make sense soon enough. **Sweety8587:** Hmm, never thought Annabel as being like Xavier's son--she's just as messed up though, huh? That's why Remy's so...perplexed I guess if the word. Rogue seems mad but he doesn't get it when nobody's really shown towards him. The whole mystery behind Annabel is solved right here. **Datrucount:** Thanks. Hmm, curious how the review wouldn't go through. But I got this one all right. Yeah, didn't figure you name had anything to do with my story. It was just a moment of funny confusion. Ha. **Silky black:** I'm thinking that Jean just wanted help in general, even though she knew there was nobody to go to As for Theodore Farrat first impressions are not always the most accurate, right? Sucks though b/c 35% off is only once in a long while, otherwise it's just the regular old 20%. Blagh. Hmm, I'm not familiar with Winners. **Shockgoddess:** Yes, poor Rogue, poor Remy--I can't wait to give you all the next few chapters! **Kendokao:** Stick with your intuition, I don't think it'll lead you astray. And yeah, I think all the characters are reaching some sort of breaking point. The tension that has built is fast becoming unbearable. And you're right about Remy being at the heart of the matter. **Epona04:** Yay, some Jean empathy--the girl gets it too hard from people. And of course the plot shall thicken to a viscosity tantamount to glue... **Allie:** You're confused? I hope I'm not twisting things around too much. Wish you said what was confusing...this chap clears up a LOT. You already started school? My God where do you live? I don't start till next week and I am absolutely dreading it. I do so many things and gag, the business. Yet, I kinda thrive off of it. **PossessedRoguey:** Yeah, I like Poe--saw all the clues huh? Haha. Good to see you associate "Raven" with Poe rather than Mystique. Hate to see that happen. I don't flow with the semi-psychotic sociopath thing. **Hawkgal:** Well, just don't predict everything's that going to happen or you might disappoint yourself. Great gifts must be used responsibly, lol. See, how often do authors typically update? I just know I wish everybody would update as fast as me so I could read! **Ishandahalf:** _I'm _disheartening _you?_ My dear, Ish--your fic absolutely _kills_ me with the heartbreak. I guess we're even, neh? Oh no, you're going to college? I think I might cry because you will be incredibly busy and hardly have time for updates! **GWFreak315:** Always nice to be on a favorites list. Makes me so happy to watch the stat numbers climb. :D **Freak87:** Yep, the X-Men just keep getting picked off one by one. Everybody gets theirs eventually ;-) Oh, Jean is going to snap all right--but she'll snap with a bang. Hey, that sounds like a good deal with all those episodes--I'd sure get a kick out of watching them. Bummer how they're gone. I wonder if they're ever sold in stores? I always feel iffy about buying things online. **Totally Obsessed47:** The tensions and confusion between Rogue and Gambit are trying, but what good fanfic is without romantic angst? Ooh, I love writing it. Hmm, Jean is having troubles--funny how I never really saw her relationship with Scott as anything more than adoration. Saying "love" kind of connotes passion and desire and I just don't see those two having anything but...well, adoration and admiration for each other. I can't see any fire between them, unlike with Rogue and Gambit. Hmmm, never occurred to me before. **Zen Master White Dragon:** Your "looks like it's going to rain today" made me "Hah!" very loud. Depressing? Well, the chapter was called "Distressed" right? Heh...heh...But hey! I _must_ write review replies! I'd put 'em at the end but feels like you should read the replies before the story in case I make important remarks (yeah, right).Didn't realize the last chapter was so short though--but I'm allowed a few of those, right? Speedy updates remember? I think I am very long-winded. Must stop. Best witnessed from a newbie?! Coming from you, WOW. Ultimate Remy's hair--what's with that??? Gross frizz near-fro. **Just me:** Aww, now I do feel special. On with the long review replies!.:-) Love outbursts, always so full of enthusiasm, they are. **Ninjamonkey:** Had to have a reason for the psyches to know when Annabel was around--so there it was. If you like the Theodore thing, you'll fully enjoy this chapter. It is hella revealing. **BlackRougeFillie:** Jealousy must mean I'm doing something right. :) And yeah, I was a bit put off by your question in the previous review, but then I realized you weren't really rude at all. So don't worry about it. ;) It's hard sometimes to ask an imperative question without projecting yourself as demanding. **Skyangle2004:** Yeah, school sucks, but thanks for being understanding.

**Okay, I think I forgot somebody** but I didn't do it intentionally! I read reviews from my email inbox so I think I might have stashed them away before catching every single one.

* * *

Fear. Dread. Sadness. A lot of anger. Maybe even regret... Rogue was feeling many things. Now that she'd managed to lock her psyches away, she could think peacefully. She wasn't sure if it was a good thing.

The mansion was quiet that evening. Rogue wandered the empty halls, missing Bobby's pranks, Jubilee's fireworks, the multiple Jamies bumping into things. Would she ever see them again? Her longing for the X-Men was galling. She had hated them when they were around, despised their immature behavior and ludicrous fancies. Now she would give anything to have them back.

Rogue could have laughed if the situation had not been so dire. She had spent so much of her time trying to be alone, and now that she was she wished for nothing else but company. Her feet carried her to the Infirmary, where she knew Jean had taken abode. Maybe it was time they had a heart-to-heart talk about everything. Any moment the ghost could return. Any moment one of them could fall invalid.

Jean leaned against Scott's bed, elbows propped on the mattress and head sitting on her hand. Her fingers stroked his smooth jaw. "Please be okay," she pleaded softly. "Please don't leave me."

Despite it being the right thing to do, Rogue couldn't have such deep conversations with Jean. She couldn't talk like that with anyone. Except Remy.

_No,_ she growled at herself. _You are not thinking about him!_

There was no use in denying truth. Even she couldn't lie to herself. She was wasting her time and energy moping over the Cajun. He had practically said to her face he didn't care, that there were more important things that he had to deal with--like the girl. He had to save the girl. That was why he left. Again. Rogue couldn't help but wonder if she was pretty.

She clenched and unclenched her hands. The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. Yet, as her indignation increased, she realized the anger was slowly dissolving into very unwelcome sadness. She turned away from Jean and walked into the observation area. As she collapsed at Mr. McCoy's desk, she fought back tears that threatened to ruin her make-up. Then she realized she wasn't wearing any. She hadn't worn make-up in days. It was a little refreshing.

Her sad eyes skimmed over the papers on Mr. McCoy's desk. The beast was a very busy body. Notepad scribbles, computer print outs, and medical records sat in plain view for the world to see. He had been interrupted the night he was attacked; he hadn't had the time to put his notes away.

Rogue began straightening the mess when something caught her eye. She snatched the typed document immediately, holding it close to her face in the dim lighting. She scanned the page, catching the important information: Patricia Velkonnen--born 1951, London, Great Britain--family of four--mother (identity unknown) deceased 1959--father, Edgar Farrat, dies of coma 1965--weds Count Armand Velkonnen 1977...

Rogue stopped reading. She dropped the page, head swimming with facts, hypotheses, and questions. Patricia Velkonnen was Patricia Farrat. Patricia Farrat. Mutant predator. Wraith.

_I have t'go see Theodore Farrat_.

_De girl's scared an' angry..._

_I t'ink he's doin' somethin' t'her._

Rogue covered her face with her hands. Patricia Farrat. Theodore Farrat. What had Remy gotten himself into?

* * *

It had happened through a simple note. Remy had been playing a game of Solitaire in the base rec room. Pyro waltzed in with a crisp, flammable envelope in his hands. Across the front was scrawled in script, _Gambit_. Pyro tossed the envelope onto the table of cards, "Love letter, mate?"

It was anything but. When Remy took up the offer, he had no idea so many things would result.

Theodore Farrat was not shy about his desires. He did not bother to meet in secret, calling Remy to a posh restaurant in the illustrious sector of Brooklyn. He conversed with the servers and joked with the maitre'D, carrying himself as a king admist luxury. He even paid for the meal. After explaining what he wanted, he gave a generous down payment and said, "There's plenty more where that came from, boy. Get me want I want and you get what you want." He flounced his riches, intent on showing how wealthy he was, that he was the real deal.

Remy thought nothing of it at the time.

Wolverine's motorcycle was a smooth ride. Remy could not help "borrowing" it again. Not only was it his vehicle of choice and preference, it was also versatile and fast--the wiser option compared to a chunky van. It would also give him an excuse to return to the mansion, though he didn't consciously acknowledge that.

Remy pulled the bike to a stop in front of the same expensive restaurant, one of those that served snails as a delicacy. Farrat had seemed very friendly with the employees that one night. Maybe they could offer useful information. Remy charmed his way around the workers and found that Farrat was a regular, dining at the restaurant every Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday night. He even had a specially reserved table. Once in a few nights he'd take home a waitress. Remy found one of the girls and turned up the charm. She quickly dispelled where Farrat lived.

Seventeen minutes later Remy rolled along manicured streets of Manhattan's Upper East Side. He hid the motorcycle behind some hedges and climbed over the surrounding fence. He kept alert for guard dogs or signs of sophisticated security systems. The yard was not big, considering the lack of space in Manhattan, and Remy reached the large stone home in seconds. He poked around the exterior, trying to find a way inside.

He was supposed to meet Farrat days ago, in Washington Square Park, at the chess tables. He wondered if the man would be angry at a delayed delivery.

The second floor balcony kept the only room dark enough to be sure of emptiness. Remy scaled the exterior wall upon the trellis and landed with a soft thud on the balcony. He picked the lock with ease and gained entrance.

A blandly decorated bedroom greeted his presence. He crossed the room and slowly pulled open the door. Dim lighting from downstairs teased a dark hallway. Remy crept silently through, ears keen on any noise. He looked through several rooms, sometimes whispering a quiet, "Annabel", but never really anticipating a reply. He wasn't even sure of what he expected to find.

He was poking about a study when suddenly the lights flashed on. He spun around, bo-staff extended and ready.

"You have severe punctuality issues," a vaguely British voice said. Theodore Farrat stood in the doorway, a middle-aged man dressed elegantly in a deep navy evening suit. His greying hair was groomed and combed to sculpted perfection while his face was clean-shaven. The wrinkles about his eyes became more noticeable when he frowned. He did not seem at all fazed that a thief had broken into his home. "And you were supposed to meet me in the city, not here. How do you explain yourself?"

Remy collapsed his staff, tucked it away at his belt. He withdrew a card from its deck and began absent-mindedly flipping it through his fingers. "Mais, t'ings came up--certain delays. Had t'find y' m'self t'deliver de goods."

Farrat continued to hold him under heavy scrutiny. "So you have it?"

"Depends. Y'have de fee?"

The older man seemed to roll his eyes. He turned sharply on his heel and with a quick snap of the wrist, gestured for Remy to follow. He left the room and walked downstairs. Remy stayed a safe distance behind, examining the foreign surroundings with well-trained eyes. He followed Farrat through a spacious foyer into an open parlor.

"Please, have a seat," the man said, moving to a counter of wine decanters.

"S'fine. I can stand."

Farrat began pouring himself a glass of rich Italian wine. "You really ought to relax, Gambit," he said and drew a dainty sip. "There are no hostilities here."

"Wit' all due respect," Remy said, "I'll be de judge o'dat."

The wealthy man nodded. "Wise of you to be so cautious. No wonder you are such a good thief. A tardy one, but good nonetheless. Now, let us view your payment." He carried his wine glass to a safe sitting behind a dark mahogany desk. After spinning the combination he pulled open the door. His shoulders blocked any view of the contents. When he found what he wanted, he closed the hatch and turned around.

He set a miniature briefcase on his desktop and flicked it open. The black case contained four thick piles of crisp twenty dollar bills, all stacked neatly and precisely. "There you are, Gambit," he said after another sip of wine. "Now, the item?"

Remy reached into his pocket and pulled out the bottle. He looked at it curiously, twirling the liquid around. "S'funny how y'go t'rough so much trouble for such a tiny thing, neh?" He was stalling, trying to buy more time in this house. Was Annabel here or not? The "Theo" she had mentioned could have been anybody...but Remy had a feeling, a very strong one.

"That's my business, boy," Farrat snapped. He was getting irriated, a sure sign for suspicion. The rich man didn't want anybody to know what he would use the drug for.

"Jus' curious, is all," Remy drawled coolly. "Got t'be careful dese days, 'specially wit' all de mutant haters around. What's dis for anyhow? Looks like some kind o' sedative."

Farrat finished his wine and set the glass firmly on the desk. He crossed his arms, glaring calmly at the youth. "It is a sedative," he admitted, "one that is so powerful that it cannot be acquired by conventional methods."

"What you use it for?"

"Awfully curious for a mercenary," Farrat narrowed his eyes. He smiled though it looked more like a sneer. "Ask what you really want to, Gambit. There's a question in those demon eyes of yours."

Remy's brow furrowed. Subtlety was getting him nowhere. He decided to be frank, "D'you know o' Patricia Velkonnen? Wraith?"

A glint of some unrecognizable emotion flashed through Farrat's pale blue eyes.

"How 'bout a girl dat calls herself Annabel?" Remy continued. He stopped flipping the card around; it became partially charged. His muslces were taut and alert, ready for any onslaught. This was unknown territory he'd thrown himself into. He didn't know how Farrat would react.

Surprisingly, the man smiled. "Annabel? Why yes. I did not know you were acquainted with my niece."

Remy blinked, the only sign of his surprise. "Y'niece?" So that was her real name.

Farrat's smile faded as he regarded the thief with a disdainful scowl. "Catch on a tad bit slow, don't you, lad?" He turned towards a doorway that led into the kitchen. "Annabel!" he called. "Sweetheart, I'd like you to come meet someone."

Moments later a girl appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. "Yeah, Uncle Theo? Who is it?"

Remy's eyes widened. He stared in utter disbelief at the figure before him.

She was an exact image of the young woman who'd haunted his dreams. The same black curls of opulent hair, the same icy blue eyes, the same achingly pretty face. She was dressed in casual teenage garb: jeans and a maroon zip-up cardigan over a white tank top. As she gave Remy a once-over, she smiled slightly with intrigue.

"One of my workers. His name is Gambit," Farrat explained. "Have you two met before?"

Annabel frowned curiously, "No, why would you think so?"

"Y'don't remember me, p'tite?" Remy asked. He still couldn't believe it. The ghost, the mutant predator, was just a seventeen year old girl staring at him like he was a loon.

Annabel giggled in amusement as her eyebrows raised, "What did you call me?" She exchanged a puzzled look with her uncle. "I'm sorry, but I can't really place your face... Where did we meet? I'm sure I would have remembered such a unique name."

_In m'head,_ Remy thought. He frowned and ran a hand through his hair. This was not how he had expected things to happen. Then again, he hadn't really known what to expect.

A moment of silence followed. Farrat cleared his throat impatiently. "The item," he said.

Remy handed it to him, still frowning.

Farrat tucked the bottle into the inner pocket of his suit. He gestured towards the tiny case of bills. "Your payment?"

"Keep it," Remy said. He didn't want to think about this anymore, didn't need the reminder. Along with everything else, this venture only added to his confusion. He turned to leave.

"Wait, Gambit," Annabel called.

He stopped, looked back.

She hesitated, glacial eyes going to her uncle questioningly. She brushed aside a spiral of black hair. "Why don't you stay for dinner?" she asked with a welcome smile. So sweet, so genuine, so innocent--nothing like the pained soul that had haunted him. "I was just preparing some chicken alfredo. There's more than enough for three."

Farrat raised an eyebrow at his niece.

Remy stared at her for several seconds. How could this be? Had he gone mad? Then he frowned and looked away. "No t'anks, cherie. I ain't in de mood." He left before anything more could be said.

He mounted Wolverine's motorcycle and took off down the street. Something was terribly wrong--he knew it. But how was he to prove anything? He didn't even know what he was trying to prove. If Annabel was there, alive and well, why was she attacking mutants? He should have stayed longer, asked her questions, interrogated her... But she did not know who he was. The blank look of unfamiliarity in her eyes cleared his doubt. This was not the same girl.

Remy growled in confusion. He had to forget about this for now. He veered the bike to head back towards Bayville.

"'Stay for dinner'?" Farrat said, staring at the girl. He frowned severely. "What exactly had you hoped to accomplish with that?"

"It was another ploy to complete the affect," came the reply. "You saw the look on his face. He believed everything he saw." Ever so fluidly, the black curls began to fade, retreating towards the head and straightening into short, choppy locks. The youthful female body expanded into gaunt muscles and lost its curves to masculine linearity. Anabelle's creamy skin darkened to a tan hue as her appendages grew in length and size. When she looked up her eyes were no longer icy blue but a deep hazel and her face had lost all its feminine prettiness. A dark-haired boy stood in the parlor. He crossed his lanky arms.

Farrat regarded the mutant warily, "Mr. Sidney, he may very well have accepted your offer. What would we have done then?"

"You worry too much, Theodore."

Farrat turned towards the slithery voice. A tremor ran up his spine as he saw the all-red eyes glowing in the shadows of the hallway.

"Morph's actions were an effectual gambit." The laugh was airy and guttural, chilling. "You trouble yourself over minutiae, Theodore."

"I like to be careful," Farrat said. He turned back to the dark-haired boy. "Pretty convenient mutation you've got there, lad."

"Yes," he agreed monotonously.

Farrat narrowed his eyes. What had that soulless man done to the kid? He decided he didn't care; other pressing matters called for his attention. He looked back at the red pits of eyes. "You are the most conniving mutant I've ever met. How did you know Gambit would come?" If he was nervous or intimidated, he did not show it.

"Ever since your lovely niece started her attacks here, I have been keeping an eye on those X-men," the black mouth pronounced. "Gambit should have fallen comatose when she found him, but he didn't. She spared him, why I do not know. Now it seems they have forged some kind of connection. He is a threat that must be dealt with swiftly."

Farrat nodded as he calculated his options. "Then I'll send some men after him. They'll take care of it." He reached for his phone but paused, asking, "Why are you helping me?"

Inky lips twisted into a sneering smile, "All in the name of science. Your niece's rampage is indirectly handing me a myriad of mutants to experiment with."

Farrat nodded, beginning to understand the twisted plan this scientist had in mind.

"Remember, Theodore, you must obtain the girl for me."

"And if Annabel gets to her first?"

"It does not matter," the ashen face said confidently. "You will have your men seize Rogue and bring her to my lab--unspoiled. She will be the first for extraction. Make sure your baffoons do not endanger the other X-Men--and be wary since we do not know how many mutants reside there in actuality. Once the Xavier Institute is overtaken I shall claim the specimens."

Farrat narrowed his eyes, "How do I know you don't plan on adding my niece to your little collection?"

"I no longer have use for her, dear, ignorant Theodore. I believed Wraith was the only mutant with such abilities, but that is obviously not the case. I see now that second and third generation mutants have developed quite variable abilities. Your niece--albeit intriguing--has faculties that pose more as an inconvenience than a gift." A pondering silence befell his shadowed face. "A pity I did not pull Patricia from the fire in time, yes? She may have been useful in determining the origin of the mutant X-gene."

Farrat bristled. "You are indeed heartless," he accused.

"Heart is only an obstruction to science. Uncensored experimentation is necessary for commendable progress. Now, Theodore, execute the correct actions and all will occur as planned. Come along, Morph. We have much to prepare for." The eyes disappeared as he turned away.

Farrat watched as the young man followed his master. When both had left, he shook his head, reminding himself never to deal with mutants again. He made the necessary phone calls then grabbed the bottle of medicine.

The room was on the first floor, the only one in the house with a lock on the outside. Farrat unlocked the door and entered. The dim light was useless to see by but he knew his way around the room. He went to a small cupboard in the wall, pulled off the lock. Minutes later he was ready, a syringe filled with the sedative poised in his hand.

A girl lay in the bed, her head of long, bouncy curls tilted slightly off to the side. Her eyebrows twitched, her eyelids twitching ever so subtly. She was awakening.

Farrat slowly injected the sedative into her bloodstream--only a little bit. The new chemical was powerful and required small doses a few times a day. When he was finished, Farrat tossed the needle away and took off the gloves. He held a cottonball to the puncture and then taped over it with a Band-Aid. As he stood back he realized just how exactly like Annabel the shapeshifter had looked. That boy could fool anybody with such gifts.

"Not like you, dear niece," he said to the unconscious girl. "Your powers only ever caused trouble, killed innocents, like Patricia. This is better for everyone." He watched as she stopped stirring. She fell back into motionless rest as the sedative took effect. "And what are you doing now, hmm? How are you still preying on people even in this state?" Of course, he didn't receive an answer.

He left the room after putting away the materials and locking the cupboard. He made sure the door was locked before walking away. Soon all would be over and he could enjoy his riches in peace. Whether or not it had been a mistake to hire the thief, he didn't care. That problem would soon be resolved.

* * *

**I mentioned a new character entering this story a while ago **and you've just met him--Morph's original alias was Changeling when he was part of the X-Men in one of the earlier comic titles. Man, the grief of finding a biography on him! In X-Men TAS, he is known as Morph, the tortured and slightly-schizophrenic shapeshifter who Wolverine quotes, "Could always make me laugh." I remembered that line because Morph was Wolverine's best friend even though he has no major role in the Marvel comicverse. I was originally going to use Mystique in Morph's place but then realized I would be altering the Evolution universe too much because Mystique, at this point, has been imprisoned by Apocalypse to become one of his Four Horsemen. So yeah, that's the reasoning behind Morph's little cameo.

**Sorry if this was later than usual!** But one of my favorites chapters is next!

**Next Chapter: Love In Vain**


	17. Love In Vain

**Sorry! No review replies. Time crunch. Wanted to get this up before the week progressed too much. Promise to catch you all next time.**

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Darkness fell upon the world again; another day came to a close. As the searing brightness of the sun was pushed away, Remy felt his head clear a bit. He could always think better when it was dark. He figured it was because he lived so much of his life in the shadows, in the literal and symbolic sense. Night was his cover while the day only threatened to expose his less-than-righteous deeds. But tonight was different. He wasn't stealing, plotting, or engaging in various forms of decadence. The night had nothing to hide.

Seeing Theodore Farrat was supposed to offer some clarity to the present crisis. But all that was accomplished was achieving a whole new level of confusion. Annabel was a ghost--she was a girl. Annabel was pained--she was happy. What was really happening?

Remy did not want to think about it anymore. He was beginning to believe everything was out of his hands. Maybe he couldn't help the girl like he'd wanted to. Maybe there was nobody to help. That had seemed obvious when she walked into the room so cheerfully, offered him dinner so politely. But what about his dreams, her pain? He felt some of it still, the anger, the sadness, the feeling of being hopelessly trapped. Surely those things were real.

_'Nough fo' one night,_ he decided. _Had more crap dan I can deal wit'. _

The gate to the Xavier Institute was still blown apart. In times like these, Remy wondered how long it would take for someone to fix it. He rode right through and returned Wolverine's motorcycle to its place in the garage. Afterwards he walked back out to the front of the mansion where Magneto's van was still parked. He stopped in front of it and looked up at the looming Institute. What now?

_Y'know what. _He sighed. Things were always much easier said than done. Maybe it was time to clear the air, to just come out with what he wanted to say. Trouble was, he wasn't quite sure what it was he wanted to say, what he was thinking, feeling. He ran a hand through his hair and began pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth.

She was home, no doubt about that. Remy wondered what she was doing, how she was fairing through everything. A strange warmth rose in his chest as he thought of her. The feeling was foreign and unbidden. He wanted to smile as he pictured her green eyes, the white stripes in her hair. Suddenly he pushed the images out of his mind, shaking his head. She was untouchable. He would never know the pleasure of kissing those lips, of caressing that flawless skin... That knowledge was more disheartening than he'd ever wish to admit. But perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps the issue was with him and not the malign skin.

None of these troubled contemplations were characteristic of Remy LeBeau. He was not supposed to give so much thought to women. He was not supposed to be haunted by a mere _fille_. He was not supposed to care.

Remy looked back up at the mansion.

Truth--it was so hard to accept. Especially when it was about himself.

* * *

"_From childhood's hour Ah have not been, as others were; Ah have not seen_..." 

It was dark and cold but Rogue did not care. She was only reminded of just how messed up everything was. Despite all the harrowing events the weather still seemed to mock her with its chilling summer nights. What had chased away the warmth?

"_As others saw; Ah could not bring, my passions from a common spring_..."

She was alone at the gazebo, sitting on the bench with her knees curled up to her chest. She recited the verses quietly, sadly: "_From the source Ah have not taken, my sorrow; Ah could not awaken, my heart to joy at the same tone; and all Ah loved, Ah loved alone_..."

Jean was losing herself. She was becoming more and more trapped in lament.

"_Then in my childhood, in the dawn, of a most stormy life was drawn_..."

Rogue did not know how to help her; Jean was all she had left. If she lost her... It was heavily ironic. Jean was her least favorite person, the girl who was everything Rogue was not. She had hated the redhead though she knew it was without precedent--Jean had only ever been kind and eager to help, demonstrating a solid strength close to that of Ororo's. But the calm was fading, the strength now a horribly delicate sliver.

"_From every depth of good and ill, the mystery which binds me still_..."

Rogue could not figure everything out by herself. She was no where near smart enough, brave enough, strong enough. How could everyone leave her like this?

"_From the torrent, or the fountain, from the red cliff of the mountain...From the sun that round me rolled, in its autumn tint of gold_..."

If only the darkness did not feel so near. If only she could see hope in a bright new day. If only she was not so abandoned...

"_From the lightning in the sky, as it passed me flying by_..."

The tears came. She tried to hold them back. The Rogue never cried. Finally she let them fall and lifted her head to gaze at the dark horizon. A full moon was out, its silver rays washing over her. She felt weak and vulnerable. She felt utterly alone. Despite how much she hated it, despite how much she didn't want to--she wished Remy was there. Remy, who was always so lighthearted; Remy, who seemed so understanding; Remy, who was kind and comforting...who had left. She choked back a sob and finished the poem.

"_From the thunder and the storm, and the cloud that took the form...When the rest of Heaven was blue, of a demon in my view._"

She felt a hand on her shoulder, felt fingers trailing through her hair. She looked up slowly. The eyes were black as the night, the glowing irises like impassioned fire. She drew in a shaky breath, unsure of how to react. She didn't have to.

Remy sat down beside her, pulling the folds of his trench coat around her frozen form. She felt his arm encircle her shoulders, urging her to share the warmth. She did not protest, did not pull away. As she rested her head on his chest he wrapped both arms around her and chased away the cold. She snuggled up against him as they shared the coat, feeling more tears well in her eyes, though they were not from grief.

"Don' cry, chere," he murmured against her hair.

Rogue felt herself becalming. The hopeless dread faded to a sense of pellucid solace. She sighed and pulled closer to him, nuzzling herself in his warmth, the unwavering comfort only he could give.

Remy held her firmly, resting his chin on her head. Something had clicked when he saw her cry, heard her whispering those melancholy verses. He had stood in the darkness, watching her in distressed awe. She seemed so alone and vulnerable--nothing like the bad-attitude stubborness he was used to. It made him want to hold her, make her pains go away. He wished for her to smile again, longed to hear her pretty laughter. Would they ever again know such merriment? Remy couldn't see it happening. Their friends were taken and he no longer knew what the source was. How could they save everyone, save themselves? There had never been such a hopeless time...

He hugged her closer. Nothing else mattered now. He was content in remaining there--forget the rest of the world. What did it ever do for him anyway? It never gave him this feeling, never soothed him so. "M'sorry I left," he murmured.

Rogue stirred in acknowledgment of his words, but remained silent.

"Didn't mean t'go like dat," Remy continued. He spoke so quietly, afraid if the rest of the world heard, the meaning in his words would be shattered to nothing. "I didn't want t'make y'think..." He wasn't sure what he wanted to say, becoming frustrated with himself. The one time it made a difference, the one time he really cared what happened--and he couldn't find the words. "Y'were wrong 'bout me, chere."

Rogue slowly tilted her head back to gaze at him. Remnants of tears glossed her eyes, made the green depths scintillate under the moonlight. She looked at him with a vehement yearning.

Remy swallowed a lump in his throat, "Y'said I didn't care. Dat's far from de truth."

She pressed her face against his uniform.

"S'a lil' scary," he whispered. Was she still listening? "Don' know what t't'ink 'bout all dis...Never happened t'me before." He felt her pull closer to him and smiled, received the much-needed push to keep going. "I care, Rogue. I care a lot.... An', uh, now I don' know what t'do...." She sighed shakily against him. "Chere? Say somet'ing?"

Rogue only wanted to bask in this feeling. His words delighted her beyond explanation. She discarded all her previous anger. The only thing that mattered was that he had come back and he was making her feel like everything would be all right. Maybe she had some hope after all. This wasn't just for the girls who could touch, perfect angels like Jean or sweet innocents like Kitty. She, Rogue, could have this too. She sighed contentedly, thinking it was too good to be true.

Too good. Too perfect.

Hope she had now. Hope in Remy LeBeau. She suddenly remembered who he was, what he was.

It was too good to be true. Too perfect, too wonderful for her.

She struggled against his hold, pushing him away. He seemed surprised as she pulled out of his arms and stood up, hands clenched. She bit her lip, shaking her head. Too good to be true. Too wonderful to be real.

"Rogue? What's wrong?"

Like he didn't know. "Everything!" she exclaimed in a hiss. She was getting angry again. It was always easier to be angry, far more favorable than pathetic despair.

Remy stood up but stayed where he was. He looked at her questioningly.

"This isn't real...Ah'm not...." Rogue tried to make her thoughts comprehensible. The psyches in her mind reeled from her confusion. She massaged her temples.

"Dis _is_ real, chere," Remy insisted.

Rogue shook her head slowly, taking a deep breath. "God, Remy, look at this, look at who we are. Ah'm this...and you're...you're..." She didn't really believe it, didn't want to think everything here was false. She was never more confused. Why had he said those beautiful, wonderful things? What did he want from her?

_Nothing Ah can ever give._

"I'm what," he asked tonelessly, not meeting her gaze.

Rogue shook her head, biting back tears. She hated crying; it was a sign of weakness. She was supposed to be strong. She was supposed to be tough and unaffected. "Ah am tired of bein' played and used and..." She released a shaky breath, "Ah do not want to be fooled again, Remy--Ah'm sick of being lied to." Thoughts of Scott and Risty and Apocalypse flooded her mind, unwanted feelings resurfacing and painful. Would it ever end? Would she ever find something constant and real?

Remy didn't say anything for the longest time and she began to think he was angry. He kept his gaze focused on the wooden floorboards of the gazebo. Then he looked up and the emotion in his crimson-ebony eyes was startling, "I wouldn't lie t'de girl I've fallen for."

Rogue blinked, the words not registering correctly in her mind. Even the psyches came to a frozen silence. When Remy wrapped his arms around her, she let him. She fell into his comforting embrace and closed her eyes, breathing him in. Wonderful. Beautiful. Her stomach fluttered as he ran his fingers soothingly through her hair, down the small of her back. She wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder.

They stood that way for a long while, content never to move. Of all the girls in the world that would fall before him in an instant, he wanted her, the untouchable one. Nothing had ever seemed so amazing, so incredible.

Rogue craned her neck back to look at Remy. She loved his eyes, the way they smouldered and told her everything she needed to know. A small smile graced his lips and she realized he was leaning towards her. She watched him in wonder until realization struck her hard, like a slap in the face. She turned away as he kissed the crown of her hair. Rogue bit her lip to keep from gasping. He could never have that part of her, and he would want it, need it. No matter how much she wanted to give it to him, she would never be able to.

"This isn't gonna work, Remy," she murmured sadly.

He frowned, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Why y'say dat, chere?"

"Ya can't touch me."

"I know."

Rogue shook her head, "No, ya don't. You think it won't matter but it will, it does. You'll get tired of this and--and it won't work."

"Maybe dere's more t'us dan touch, Rogue."

She knew that, could feel it whenever he was near. But reality was not so understanding.

"Jus' trust me, chere," Remy said. His voice was low. So soft, so assuring. "It'll be all right. We'll figure somet'ing out."

Rogue wanted to believe him. Desperately. "It'll only get worse," she said hoarsely. "And when it ends Ah don't think Ah'll be able to handle it..."

"Y'won't have to. Dis doesn't have t'end--"

"You're wrong. Ya don't know what you're getting yourself into. Maybe for now, in the beginning it seems okay, but later...later you'll realize it isn't and you'll go away."

Remy shook his head, frowning at her stubbornly.

Rogue stared at him, wishing he would object more strongly, convince her somehow that her thoughts were wrong. But she knew she would only be setting herself up for a greater heartache. This had to end, before it grew too intense, too real. Quickly, before he had time to react, she leaned up and brushed her lips against his ever so wistfully. It was just long enough.

He stumbled slightly and fell against her. He buried his face in her shoulder, panting from the absorption.

"Not a great feeling...is it?" she asked brokenly.

Remy struggled to get his thoughts together. He clutched her close, realizing what she had just done to him. "Rogue..."

She gently drew away from his arms, "It's better this way." She didn't sound so convinced. "It's easier on both of us." She turned and walked away from the gazebo before he could see her cry. The emotions she had absorbed from him were almost enough to make her go back. She clamped her hands over her mouth to stifle any sobs.

But, no, it had to end now. Before they got in too deep. She quickened her pace until she reached the woods. Looking back, she saw him sitting at the gazebo, rubbing his head as though confused. His eyes glowed in the darkness, accentuating the haunted expression on his handsome face. Rogue turned away quickly and disappeared into the shadows.

* * *

--**_Sob_**--**Trust me, I know.**


	18. Target

**See, I knew I should have handed out tissues for the last chapter.** I love all you Rogue/Remy softies!! Writing that last chapter was absolute pain--and proof reading it was a new kind of happy torture...--sigh-- gotta love my own angst. What was that movie that said humans define their existence by misery...??

**The poem Rogue recited was not of my own making. **It's Edgar Allan Poe's "Alone" and my story title is obviously derived from the last line. **For clarification purposes,** I wasn't really implying anything with Rogue going into the woods. There are woods between the Institute grounds and gazebo and she has to go through them to get to the mansion. Plus, trees have shadows and I wanted her to run into some darkness. Think of it symbolically if you wish. **Anyway**, since I missed out on review replies last time, I shall be extra indulgent for this round!

**Blackrougefillie:** I just don't even know what to say--can't believe I made you cry...but I was right there with you, sister. Fear not though, the hurt can't last forever. **Kendokao:** Aren't we all a sucker for Rogue/Remy romance...wish I could have something like that. Here, have a tissue. Glad you agree that it makes sense. I thought lots of people would be mad at me! Watch out for Remy's return! (because of course he's going to or else this story would ultimately suck). **Enchanted light:** hehe, I find it funny how you say the exact same thing every time. **Pomegranate Queen:** Hi! Haven't heard from you in a while. Ah, yes, the dreaded yet much-loved anguish...we all experience it--and there will be more. **GreenFairyGirl88:** Hi, you're a new "face". And yeah, the last chapter sure did suck on the happiness, but it won't stay this way, I promise. As for how the story ends, you'll have to keep reading. Don't tempt me to divulge plot info! **Allie:** You're sentimental, sensitive, and a sissy! J/K, lol. You're not the only one that was crying, girl--and I am absolutely flattered that my writing could have that affect on people. Ooh, love the oustanding writer comments, make me smile extravagantly. I promise not to delay story updates too long. Horror if I start following the examples of other authors! **Freak87:** I just can't get enough drama, really. It's what makes life so interesting. It's good that you understand Rogue's reasoning behind all this, she's not just being a horrible tease. As for the woods, read above statement. **Totally Obsessed47:** Sad, nice--don't usually co-relate but I think they did for the last chapter. You guys all love the angst don't you? Update shall come soon. **Ishandahalf:** I'm sorry, but I had to giggle at your description of such an emotional rollercoaster! I'm sorry that I made you go through so many ups and downs (but really I'm not!). Good! I tried to be as heartwrenching as possible. This is all very distressing, but for insanely happy fluff, write more of your story and upload it! Yay. **Citrus Rain:** I think we all teared up at some point, if not outwardly then on the inside. The heavy emotion doesn't even end here, my friend. Poem information above. Love your penname, by the way. Sounds like a type of fruity drink or fragrant shampoo. **Silky black:** Don't mind hearing about my writing skills--really, lol. Dark and beautiful, now there's way to describe it. That's why it's one of my favorite chapters. Ooh, your pooor French manicures! Please, do wear gloves. I empathize as a girl who loves her neat nails. And noooo, I didn't write the poem--not so darkly brilliant as Edgar Allan Poe. You're about the fourth person that's had inklings of something going down in the woods. Hmm... And I don't know if this chapter is much happier, but it does well for distraction purposes? **BananaPanda24:** Yay, another addition to my growing fans! Thank you, never get tired of compliments on my writing. I just keep wanting to get better and better as the chapters come along. Keep reading! It's not even close to being over. **Just me:** Here! My review response! Isn't it so unfair that Remy, Mr. I-don't-love-girls-I-just-lust-after-them, finally admits his feelings for Rogue, and she can't even see a way for them to be together? The _idea_ of it is enough to make me tear up. I'm such a sap--but hey, as long as I keep this story going nobody is going to make fun of me, got it? LoL. And I am just going to tell you right now that the next victim is not going to be Jean...yet...wait, is that right? I don't even know myself! Gotta check the later chapters... **Sweety8587:** More sweet than bitter? Hmm...I'll have to ponder that for a while because I sure got a taste of bitter after reading it myself. Then again, it was kind of sweet...dunno. But poor Remy...he never loved and now that he does he gets heartbroken...I just don't know what to do with this guy! You'll find action in the next few scrolls down! **Cd lover:** Ooh, I'm sorry--but really I'm not. The more angst the better, I say. **Queen of Gambitia/Minion:** I don't see anything wrong with it--angst and suffering makes life interesting. Otherwise everything would be happy and boring! I am a complete masochist, I've decided...horrible. **Skyangle:** Yeah, talk about emotional whiplash. I seriously think if anything like this were to happen to me, the neurons and synapses of my brain would be fried senseless. OMG, quick like a bunny on crack couldn't make you smile? That is something! But don't fret, things can't stay horrible forever otherwise the story would suck to the extreme, don't ya think? **Ninjamonkey:** Have a tissue and thank you! Favoritest chapter of mine so far! **Gren44:** I'm such a dork--reading your review made me giggle happily. Isn't it just poetic, the complexity of Rogue and Gambit's relationship? It makes you wonder how any two such people could make it work. But by God, they are going to make it work! **Kitty-mm:** Done?? Nooooooo, this is _far far_ from being done. But how can you be confused? I was pretty sure I wrote everything out to be understandable. Did you miss some chapters perhaps? **Zen Master White Dragon:** Your review is tardier than usual, but I guess it evens out bc this update is tardier than usual! Seeing as how you're the supreme objective reviewer in this fan community, your compliments are truly taken to heart. I am so glad you think _Love In Vain_ was heartwrenching--hope I made you cry! Hmm, did that sound messed up? Oh, well, gotta say I just love seeing the pain and emotion--b/c in the end, the rewards are worth it. Good! I would love to read one of your stories for once! **Yersi Fanel:** Just gotta say there's no way this fic is ending without a great conclusion. Somebody thought _Love In Vain_ was the last chapter and I'm just wondering how that's possible! I'd be the worst author in the world to leave it like that!

* * *

He didn't care.

Remy stalked through the mansion, still feeling slightly woozy. If he turned too quickly a sharp dizziness would wash over him and make him stumble. He reached the foyer and paused at the stairs to clear his head. Had Rogue really absorbed him? Purposely?

He didn't care.

Shaking his head, Remy frowned. Merde, how pathetic he was now... Back in the day, nobody would ever see the King of Hearts like this. He groaned and rubbed his eyes. Focus, damn it. He still could not believe what she had done. What was she trying to prove?

He didn't care.

If she wanted it that way, then he would let her have it. If she didn't want him around, then he wouldn't be. He was not her friend, he was not an X-Man. He had no place here and he wanted to kick himself for not realizing that sooner. If this was the way she wanted it...

He didn't care. After all, she was just another femme, an untouchable one at that. What difference did it make that she was beautiful. What difference did it make that she was amazing. There were many girls out there just like her who had the same fathomless green eyes, the same witty personality, the same ironclad inner strength... Obviously he hadn't been thinking when he spoke those ridiculously saccharine words to her. It had to have been the moment, the scenery--the romantically cliché moonlight at an ocean-view gazebo. And he always had been a romantic, non? It was the best way to charm those filles.

He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. No more. He had never said such things to anyone before and now he realized why. None of it mattered, none of it made a difference, because in the end all he had was himself. He would not brood over this anymore. There was really nothing to brood about--because he didn't care.

"Gambit, wait."

He spun around, pulse quickening. His face dropped.

"Are you okay?" Jean asked, coming down the stairs. "You look a little...uh..." She looked down guiltily. "I saw Rogue run into the mansion earlier. Did something happen between you guys? She was kind of...I mean, she was crying..."

Good. "Ain't my doin'," Remy said, turning towards the door. He didn't care. He just had to keep telling himself that. She wasn't worth it--she shouldn't have been worth it.

"You can't leave like this," Jean said, voice hard. "I can feel it too, you know. It's dripping off of you like rotted flesh it's so strong." Her tired eyes were piercing.

Remy frowned at her, "Why do y'care so much, Red?" He was slightly perturbed by her morbid analogy.

"I'm a telepath, damn it," Jean spat. She rubbed her eyes tiredly, the stress finally arousing latent frustration. "I can sense things even if I don't want to and--and whatever this _thing_ is between you and Rogue--God, you're just going to leave her? Like it doesn't matter?"

"She de one dat left," Remy shot back.

"Then go after her!" Jean shouted. She released a frustrated sigh and rubbed her eyes again. "How can you be so conceited--who gives a damn about pride--especially now when anyone of us could be next..." She shook her head, fiery tresses trembling with the motion. "God, if I could have one more moment with Scott, just one more before he...he..."

Remy understood now. He wearily shook his head. There was nothing he could say to her to explain what he was feeling. He looked at her one last time in silent apology and left before she could utter another word.

* * *

Sabertooth was nowhere to be seen. Remy walked around the base and found no trace of the big cat. Good. He wasn't in the mood for growling interrogations. There was only one thing he positively knew he needed at the moment.

The shower was long and hot. He closed his eyes, letting the searing liquid relax his taut muscles. The comfort reminded him of the feel of Rogue in his arms, her inner warmth despite the icy exterior. He had almost broken through that bane of a mask, he had almost gotten her to let go--he shook his head furiously. No more. He didn't care.

When he emerged from the shower his skin tingled from the intense heat. He changed into a fresh uniform but left the headdress off. He thought of Annabel, he thought of Wraith. Where was she now? Annabel the girl, Annabel the ghost. He didn't want to contemplate it anymore.

The kitchen held nothing appealing. It was in the same condition as before. Remy looked around the depressing scene. He realized he hadn't eaten for a long time. He rummaged around the cupboards and found a box of animal crackers. Coupled with a bottle of bourbon, he had his meal. His health was sure to be deteriorating. He sat at the uncomfortable table, munching on a buffalo-shaped cracker. He tried not to think, willed his mind to focus on the taste of semi-sweet flour--but it wasn't working.

He saw her sitting at the gazebo. He saw her tears. He felt her warmth and her face buried in his chest. He remembered the moments of peace, the feeling of contentment--but then it had been ripped away by an abrupt touch. So sought after, so deadly.

A noise caught his attention.

He took a swig of his bourbon as he headed in the direction of the sound. Sure enough, the patter of footsteps could be heard around the next corridor. They were not the deliberate strides of confidence like Sabertooth's, but the secretive creeping of an intruder. Remy listened carefully. There was more than one of them. A smirk played across his lips. It seemed Fate was giving him something to release frustration on.

He stood around the corner, watching their shadows on the floor as they drew nearer. Amateurs--they were making so much noise. Remy finished off the rest of the bourbon. Despite the alcohol, he was feeling very energized. As the first goon came around the corner, he smashed the bottle on his head. The man fell to the floor and his friends leapt back in surprise. Remy chuckled, "Guess t'was too strong fo'him, non?"

Several guns cocked in response.

Remy quickly leapt out of the way. He dove around the corner just as bullets pelted the floor where he stood. Several ricocheted off the metal walls and he heard shouts of pain spew from the intruders. Dieu, he hadn't been expecting that many. There were at least a dozen, all wearing dark jackets and bearing guns. They didn't belong to any government agency; they were dressed too casually. They had to be privately hired minions and Remy could think of only one man that would come after him.

_Farrat, y'bastard,_ he thought.

"He's over there!" Several of the intruders came rushing.

Remy was prepared. He decked the first one with a well-aimed punch, readily whipping out his bo-staff to knock over the next. With an upwards twirl, the metal pole connected with jaw, rendering another man unconscious. Remy side-stepped a blow and propelled himself up on the man's shoulders. His feet smashed into his next adversary then swung around to clobber the man he was holding onto. Both fell to the floor, Remy poised on top, his unfortunate opponent knocked senseless. Just as he crawled off he felt the cold barrel of a gun press against his left temple.

"Move and I'll blow your brains out," a gruff voice rumbled.

"All right, homme, I can be cooper'tive," Remy said. He smirked.

The man frowned, realized the gun was getting hotter in his hands. At first the feeling did not register, until it turned into pain. The weapon glowed with unwarranted heat energy, searing his flesh. He cried out and dropped it. Remy had already moved away when the gun exploded. Shouts of anger, surprise, and pain erupted--painting a satisfied grin on Remy's face.

"Farrat warned us he was a dirty mutant!"

"Trash--where's that mutant predator when you need it?"

"Careful, we don't know what else he can do."

Oh, there was just too much fun to be had. Remy watched as they moved past below him. He was perched upon the pipes and framework of the ceiling. His nimble fingers shuffled a deck of cards in one hand.

Farrat's men snuck by below. They checked around corners and through doors. "Ey, what the hell's this?" one of them said. He stared at the glowing Jack of Spades spiraling down in front of him. "Deaver?"

A brunette man with a hard-set, rectangular jaw stepped forward. Immediately his eyes widened. He turned away with a shout, "Hit the deck!"

The card exploded and rendered several men insensible. More cards suddenly fell upon them, erupting with bright surges of light and fire. Vision became impaired as smoke clouded the area. While punches sounded and the sound of metal clanging against flesh reached his ears, Deavers grabbed his mouthpiece and called for backup.

Remy was too busy debilitating the ranks of his adversaries to notice. He moved fluidly through and around them, using the hazy smoke to his advantage. One by one they fell. Then a pounding reached his ears, the sound of many footsteps approaching in frenzy. He had not expected more.

Guns cocked, bullets flew.

Remy scurried away, feeling one of the tiny missiles graze his shoulder. He gritted his teeth in pain and retreated. Merde, he hated running from a fight, but he was outnumbered. His feet carried him swiftly around familiar corridors, all the while pursued by many gun-happy goons.

"Dis ain't de way I planned 't," he muttered under his breath.

Skidding around a corner, he tossed more charged cards over his shoulder. Their explosions shook the halls but the men did not relent. Bullets pelted the walls and floors, leaving behind many holes in their wake. Remy rushed into the warehouse compound to avoid being shot. He dodged behind storage crates, retaliating against the gunfire with more explosive cards. As the wooded crates chipped away under assault, Remy calculated what to do next. He stopped throwing cards.

"What's he doing?"

"Keep quiet, fool."

"Bring up the heavy artillery."

Farrat sure wanted him dead--which meant he was hiding something too precious to risk exposure. Remy immediately thought of Annabel. The girl he met couldn't have been her; they were like two different people. They had to be two different people. Remy growled at his own ignorance. So where was the real Annabel?

He spared a peak around the side of the crate, realizing the gunfire had ceased. His eyes widened as a bazooka missile came sailing his way. Uttering a curse, he leapt aside and the crate exploded. Splinters and burning fragments of wood flew in all directions. He fell against the rounded edge of the storage dome, reminded of one encounter with a mind-controlled Rogue. There wasn't much time to reminisce as he saw Farrat's men aim their guns. Before their bullets could add excess cavities to his body, he rolled through the circular opening of the dome and disappeared from view. Once inside he realized his mistake. All around him sat an assortment of weapons and explosives, the fruit of Magneto's collective efforts. "Merde," he muttered.

"Fool's trapped himself," Deaver announced. "Send him another one."

The bazooka fired another round, its cylindrical discharge trailing a smoky tail. It entered the dome and instantly catalyzed a series of dynamic explosions. The entire structure shook, trembling from the force, but stayed intact to contain the eruptions. When the thick smog cleared, all that remained were pieces of charred rubble and flaming debris.

"Target eradicated," Deaver announced. "Move out."

He looked back one more time to make sure the mutant had not survived. There was no movement except for flickering flames and dancing shadows. Smirking at a job well-done, Deaver followed his men out of the compound.

* * *

**Yeah, I know this is kind of a lame cliché ending** but bare with me. I had to cut this chapter here--BECAUSE I UPLOADED TWO TONIGHT! I go a lot by "feeling" when it comes to these stories and I "felt" that this would have been a sucky place to leave you guys until another chapter came up.

**This is the longest I've gone without updating--**just my second day of senior year and already I'm having trouble getting time to do simple homework. God, just wait until the work gets _really _complex, huh? Plus with college applications.... Rogue/Remy stories are my only escape!!

All right, go read and review!


	19. Rogue Remainder

Most of the weaponry was damaged beyond practical use. Anything with dynamite or explosive properties had detonated without hesitation, leaving behind angry flames in aftermath. Somewhere along the floor, a hatch flew open. Wisps of excess smoke drifted free as a soot-covered Cajun crawled out. He coughed and rubbed his ears, wondering if the ringing would ever stop. Struggling to get his senses back, he realized how fortunate he was that the C-4 in the cache had not erupted. He stumbled out of the storage dome and took a moment to breathe.

Faint voices drifted to his ears.

"...preparing right now."

"Why bother...all revved up...stupid girl?"

Remy climbed to his feet and moved as silently as speed would allow. Two of Farrat's men stood in the damaged corridor, keeping guard.

"It's a mansion full of muties, idiot," one of them scoffed. "We don't know how many there are or what powers they have--friggin' anomalies of nature. Not going to be easy catching the stripe-haired girl."

Remy's jaw clenched.

"Why we after a teenager anyway?"

"Farrat ordered. Hope she gets hers, before she grows old enough and really knows how to use whatever powers she has--all that baby mutant filth should. Maybe they'll run experiments on her--like they do in the movies, you know? All the surgical tools and prodding machines, find out what makes a mutant a mutant." He sniggered cruelly. "Hope they make it hurt. Every little mutant bitch should be put to a slow and painful--aagh!"

Both guards flew against the wall as a charged card exploded at their feet. Remy was on them in a second, clutching the talker against the wall while pinning the other to the floor with a boot at the neck.

"What's Farrat want wit' de girl?" Remy demanded, eyes glowing like hellfire.

The man stared at him with a disgusted glare, "You think you scare me, _mutie_?" Even as he said it, he felt his jacket growing warmer. Soon the warmth was uncomfortable and he realized the mutant was doing it.

"Dat's right," Remy said, eyes narrowed, "couple more seconds and dere'll be more pieces o'y' dan you'll be able t'count." The one on the floor began struggling and Remy kicked him brutally to unconsciousness.

"I don't know what he wants," the man said. He began to sweat from the heat. It was burning his skin. "Swear to God I don't know--I'm just doing my job."

Remy continued to glower at him. Finally, with a frustrated grunt, he uncharged the jacket and knocked the man out. As he turned to leave he heard their comm units cackling.

_"...Gregson and Vitrol remain at stations. Team ready to depart--Xavier Institute..."_

Remy ran as fast as his feet could carry him. Despite what Farrat's men thought, there was no heavy mutant force at the Institute. Rogue and Jean were alone--and they would not be able to hold back a group of armed attackers. He had to get to the Institute before Farrat's people did--he had to warn Rogue.

He reached the underground garage where his Harley Davidson was parked. Leaping on, he pushed the motorcycle to its maximum speed.

The garage housed many sorts of complex machinery and expanded a wider area below ground than the base did above. Remy sped through with few obstructions, accelerating up a ramp and shooting out via hidden doors on the surface. The Harley thudded noisily upon dirt and groaned in protest as Remy jerked it towards a back road route towards the mansion.

He paid little attention to fences or street signs, mind focused on one thought.

He had to warn Rogue.

She clutched the phone to her ear, squeezing her eyes shut. Her breath ceased flowing and she struggled to remain calm.

"Rogue? Are you still there?" a panicked woman asked on the other end of the line. "Please, tell me what to do. We don't know what to do. It's been an hour since it happened..."

She could not speak. She could not believe.

"She's in bed right now--is that okay? Should we take her to the hospital--oh, but God she's a mutant and they won't help her--will they?"

Rogue forced herself to breathe, "Mrs. Pryde..." She didn't know what to say. She was so tired. She glanced at the clock, saw it was near one in the morning. "Just keep Kitty warm...and...yeah, warm." She couldn't remember what to do with comatose people.

"That's it?" Kitty's mother screeched. "I thought you X-Men were experienced with this sort of thing! Tell me how to help my daughter!"

She slammed the phone down before she knew what she'd done. Backing away, she stared at it with a blank face. It did not ring again. She then looked around the living room as though fascinated by the furniture and elegant decorations. Numbness became her senses; she didn't know what to feel. Her reality consisted of nothing but emptiness--a deep void where all the X-Men were supposed to be. All the X-Men and a certain Cajun...

Rogue blinked, rubbed her eyes. She couldn't think enough to be afraid. Lowering herself onto the couch, she curled into a ball and closed her eyes to wish for oblivion. Was that too much to ask for? She wanted to feel nothing and be nowhere. Maybe the mutant predator would come after her next and end this miserable existence.

The screaming didn't even startle her when it began--it was her psyches that sent her running.

_She's here! She's here!_

_Don't go to her! Let her take the redhead! You don't like her anyway!_

_Are you crazy--she'll come after you next!_

_You're not a hero, you're a monster and vampire like her!_

Rogue flew down the stairs, losing her footing over a few steps. A cry escaped her throat as she tumbled painfully to the floor. Grunting from exertion, she staggered to her feet and burst into the kitchen. A toaster flew by her head, whipping aside a few strands of her hair. She pressed herself against the wall, green eyes wide with alarm. _Oh, God..._

Jean cowered by the patio door, clutching handfuls of hair as her wide eyes stared at an invisible horror. Knives, forks, and other sharp kitchen utensils flew about the room, striking into the walls, counters, and cupboards. "Stop it! Stop it!" she shrieked at the top of her lungs. Her gaze focused on a rack of pots and pans hanging over the island counter. They flew at her bidding, aiming at the unseen target. "I won't let you do this! You're not going to take them! I won't let you take him!"

Rogue suddenly found her voice, "Jean--only telepathy works!" She stared hopelessly as the older girl continued to scream and levitate objects.

Rogue took a deep breath and pushed herself off the wall. She dove out of the way of a flying wok and took cover behind the island counter. Forks and knives struck the floor near her feet--the ghost had just flown past. She looked up as a cupboard slammed open. Ivory plates streamed out in neat rows, flying to directed locations only to shatter against walls and objects.

Squelching the reluctance, Rogue threw herself forward while dodging the plates. She tackled Jean against the patio doors. The glass shattered at impact and they sprawled through, rolling over prickly shards. Rogue groaned from the many tiny cuts on her skin. Her screeching psyches did not help matters as they continued to harass her with insults, threats, and panicked cries. She struggled onto her feet and went to Jean, who was slowly sitting up.

"A psychic blast," Rogue said, grabbing the redhead's shoulders. "Do ya understand? Jean--look at me damn it!" She slapped her across the face.

Jean stared at Rogue with wide eyes. She shook her head, swallowing. Then she nodded. "O-okay...I'll try..." She searched the air before them, seeing what Rogue could not. Then, concentrating her powers, she gasped as she aimed her telepathic energy.

Like before, the air rippled and a smoky figure flickered into view for a few seconds.

"Keep going," Rogue encouraged, squeezing her shoulder. "Ah'm right here." She tried desperately to quiet the voices in her head. They were reaching a mind-sundering roar.

_She's too strong!_

_You can't fight her! Run before she gets us!_

_You're evil--you're just like her--you fool!_

Jean's eyes were squeezed shut in concentration. She shook her head and released a pained gasp. Beads of perspiration glistened on her forehead. "Not working...I have to try...I'm going to try..." She grew rigid under Rogue's hold, hands flattening against the glass-covered patio. She bled but didn't seem to notice. Her facial features calmed into hard focus. Then something unexpected happened.

Rogue leapt back in alarm as the wispy specter floated up from Jean's body. She stared in awed fascination, noticing the resemblances to Jean in the mistiness--the slender figure, the long hair, the pleasantly angular face...

The smoky form floated up into the air and shaped a cloudy blade in its hand. It slashed fiercely with the weapon and upon contact, revealed the invisible ghost. Just as quickly the ghost winked out of view until Jean's ethereal form attacked it again. The two misty figures battled each other. Every time Jean attacked with success the ghost would appear to the naked eye, looking horridly like the wicked witch of childhood fears.

Rogue marveled at the scene. Hope flared inside of her as she watched Jean advance upon the ghost again and again. She seemed to be gaining the upper hand. But then Rogue glanced at the real Jean and saw the girl had a pained expression on her face. Her brow twitched and she bit her lip near bleeding. The effort was exhausting her.

Dismay clutched Rogue like a vice as the ghost slashed viciously at Jean's projection. The telepath was depleted of strength. She released a pained cry and collapsed, moaning incoherently. Misty Jean disappeared, melting away in the air.

Rogue went to her side, trying to pick her up. "Come on, Jean, snap out of it. We have to get out of here. Ah can't--" She fell back as one of Jean's fists collided with her face.

Jean screamed and cried out in despair. Her arms beat at the air futilely, becoming weaker with each subsequent attempt. Rogue tried to calm her down and stop her screaming. She watched in horror, the psyches railing mercilessly in her head, as Jean's screams became mere whimpers. Her body convulsed, her eyes rolled up in her head. In a few brief moments, she was motionless.

_No, no, no...this can't be happenin'..._ Rogue squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the panic rise in her chest. She held Jean and cradled her head in her arms. _Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God._ Her auburn tresses fell over her face as she stared at the ground. There was nobody else. She was truly, utterly alone. _Ah didn't do anything,_ she thought helplessly. _Why am Ah the last one?_ Tears fell down her cheeks, tears she struggled always to keep at bay.

_Self-pity doesn't become you._

Rogue stiffened and looked around in alarm. "Who's there?"

_You know who._

The psyches shrieked in absolute panic. Their wails of indescribable fear reached such resonance that words blended into incoherent babble. Rogue released Jean, stepping away and clutching at her head. "Stop it!" she screamed at them. "Shut up! Leave me alone!"

_She'lltakeus!Youwanthertotakeus!Youhateus!Runawaynow!She'scomingtogetyou!She's coming!You'rehernextvictim!Run!Run!Run!She'shere!_

Rogue clawed at her head, begged the psyches to relent their assault on her. Anything was favorable to this pain, this torture she could never escape. She ground her teeth together, trying to suppress their screams with her mental shields. It wasn't working--nothing would subdue them.

_Boy, aren't you miserable._

Rogue breathed jaggedly from anguish. She looked up and saw the ghost.

_I may be a vampire but at least I can control when I absorb._

It was a girl bearing a pleasant face composed of ethereal mist. She looked nothing like the decrepit witch Rogue had witnessed earlier. Her eyes were paler than the rest of her smoky form, twinkling slightly as she held Rogue under scrutiny. _Silence._

The psyches immediately ceased their wailing.

Rogue blinked several times as she tried to calm her pounding heart. She stared at the ghostly phantom. "Wraith?"

It sighed in resignation. _Alas, no--but that does seem to be the popular belief._ Cloudy lips curved into a sly smile. _Nobody knows about me. Nobody knows about little Annabel._

"Why did they listen to ya?" Rogue asked, shaking her head. She was so confused. She was talking to the mutant predator and it was talking back to her. "Why aren't ya killing me all ready? Why--"

_So many questions,_ Annabel said into her mind. _Is the whole vampire thing the only interest these days? _A sigh sounded. _Guess it's only nature to fear what's sending so many people into a coma..._

"You're crazy," Rogue said incredulously. "You're talking like it isn't a big deal--like you're not ruining lives."

The ghost drifted closer to her until she took a step back. _You're afraid of me, aren't you Rogue? Why? I'm just like you. We're the same. How utterly fascinating...I thought dear dead Mother was the only person like me in the world. We should be like sisters, we can relate to each other's pains..._

Rogue could not believe what she was seeing. Theodore Farrat, Remy had said. The man was doing something to the girl--the mutant predator--the ghost. Theodore Farrat. Patricia Farrat. Dear dead Mother...

"You're Velkonnen's daughter," Rogue whispered.

Annabel smiled prettily, _Very bright little rogue, aren't you? Even Remy couldn't figure it out._

Rogue drew in a sharp breath, "What did you do to him?" Little semblances of the feelings she had absorbed from him still lingered. It made her feel guilty and warm at the same time.

Her remark seemed to amuse Annabel. She laughed an airy sound and flashed Rogue a disdainful look. _Why do ya care anyway?_ she asked, immitating the southern accent. _He didn't want things to be complicatin', but ya just had to absorb him to prove a point--a lame one, too. Who really gives a damn about the future--the present is all ya have._

"Ah know ya aren't lecturing me," Rogue muttered. She rubbed her temples. She had to be going crazy. The stress had finally gotten to her--she was hallucinating.

_Remy's going to be fine once you're out of the picture,_ Annabel cooed. She batted her wispy lashes dreamily. _He's such a wonderful young man...do you even realize how wonderful he is? So kind, such a romantic, very empathetic.... And I'm sure you've not failed to notice how gorgeous he is.... You really don't deserve him, Rogue. He's too good for you. I'll make him happier than you ever could._

Rogue glared at the spectral image furiously. "Ya aren't even real," she hissed. "You're just a projection of your real self. Where is your body? Is it Theodore Farrat--your mother's brother--your uncle? What's he doin' to ya?"

Annabel bristled noticeably. Slowly her soft features began to change. Her button nose extended pointily, her eyes became angled and piercing, her skin bubbled with pocks and wrinkles. Fangs grew behind shriveled lips as the curly hair unwound to a scraggly mass. _I don't like looking this way,_ she said, a pronged tongue flickering behind feral teeth. _Excitement brings it out, plus my sheer spite--but when I get angry, that's the worst._

Rogue finally understood why the victims screamed.

Her psyches could no longer remain quiet. Their howls vibrated off the walls of her mind, drowning out all other thoughts. She was too pained to be afraid, too distracted to notice the ghost's clawed hands reach out to her. Above the roaring cacophony of panicked souls, she heard Annabel's voice.

_It'll be over soon. You won't have to feel this anymore--you won't have to hate living. All there will be is peaceful sleep...then nothing, because there is no heaven for mutants. No, no heaven at all..._

A terrible, searing pain erupted in Rogue's mind. She cried out and fell to her knees, clutching her head. It felt as though her skull was being ripped apart. Tears sprang from her eyes unbidden and she fought back the urge to whimper.

_You're letting her take us! You're letting her drain you!_

_Fight back, you evil witch! Fight back!_

_She's inside! She's inside!_

Annabel's girly laughter floated above the noise, _So many, Rogue. How do you keep so many?_

Rogue could feel herself being absorbed--the rape of her mind like Apocalypse had done. She doubled over on the patio, clutching herself, trying to fight away the agony. Annabel was pulling at her psyches, teasing them until they shrilled even louder with fear. Rogue tried to hold onto them--anything to stop their painful screaming. She couldn't take it anymore, could feel herself beginning to snap. Weaker and weaker she grew, fully understanding the affect of her powers on those unfortunate people she had touched. As her resistance wavered, Annabel fed jovially upon the psyches--so many lives, so many experiences, so much to relish in.

The pain....With an exhausted scream Rogue let go, allowing Annabel to drain her freely. The world faded from perception. There was no more screaming, no more mind-wracking pain. There was...

Nothing.


	20. Hero

**Ha, yeah, animal crackers aren't exactly **the manly food, but I just had to put them in somehow because (1) Tidbit of our "real" world and (2) I've gotten addicted to them this summer--I mean, aren't they just great? Crackers that are not too sweet but sweet enough and you can eat them with coffee, milk... Wonder who does the grocery shopping at the Acolyte base...

**Ishandahalf: **Just gotta love the cliffhangers. Batman is also one of my fav superheros. So dark and demented, like me I guess!** PomegranateQueen**: I guess it's good you're so speechless?** mou shini inkinai ka:** hmm, don't know about that "tomorrow" update but today's good too, right? **Yersi Fanel:** if they haven't updated in so long, I'll bet they just forgot about the story. And hell yeah I'm doing a next update. **Zen Master White Dragon:** Well, Annabel can't die else the Count would be pretty pissed, yeah? Funny, Remy's mode adjective seems to be "buffoon" in this fic from readers. Oh, so Remy WILL be in your fic! See, now my interest has sparked even more. **X2P3:** I do believe you have been absent for a long while, my friend. Glad to see you're back in the network. **Da tru count:** thanks, and god the applications...then I have to wait to see if I even get in to the school I want. Pain. **Sweety8587:** the broom, hahaha...Remy does fit the description of a knight in shining armor...--sighs dreamily-- Well, guess I'll just have to fulfill my own fantasy here. **Cd lover:** I think I may have suffered a few first-degree burns there...ouch. But glad to see such vehemence! I love exciting such emotions! Kitty is gonna be back!--and I'm dedicating a whole five inches or so of a page just for her and Lance so just you wait. **Blackroguefillie:** You're too sweet, but please don't stop. You've been spelling your name wrong this whole time? Oooh...I thought it was supposed to be "rouge" like you know, red. It was still pretty that way because it's like black-red-fillie. But whatever you prefer. And no, you didn't sound like a butt at all! Still love ya. Don't envy, enjoy and relish! I envy all those great movie-makers. How fun it would be to write a script for those movies. **Gren44:** Heh...heh...I just can't help the cliffhanger chapters, however evil they may be. But it's not Farrat that wants to use Rogue for experiments, it's the red-eyed scientist from "Mysterious Relations"--just in case there was any confusion. As for your other questions, here they be answered. **Loneraven:** Hi! You're back! Thanks for the Wows! **Silky black:** Alas, poor Annabel is receiving a bad rap...but oh well. I have a feeling she'll win over a few hearts in the end...God! Enough with the hints! Hahaha kitty food for sabretooth... And Remy shall be enacting the role of the perfect knight in shining armor, swooping the lady love into his arms in a gallant manner and whisking her away on a glimmering steed...yeah right, maybe in 1554--but still something close to that effect here. And love your review as always! :) **kendokao: **Jean fought back like a beast. She's not a wimp like some may think! So many questions, oh my gosh--hope you get your answers here. **Epona04:** Love such descriptive enthusiasm. Ooh, your compliments are too much but don't stop. Ever! And hell yeah there's gonna be a sequel. You just wait. **Enchanted light:** Let's do an experiment and see if you actually check my reply. How about we go for a 8-word review next time? Yeah? ;-P **Totally Obsessed47:** Another wow! I should start collecting them. Soon enough, yes? **Alexandria:** That is such a pretty name but I can see why you'd go by Allie--what a mouthful! And I think you're the only person here of whom I know the true name of. Everyone else goes by an alias. I hope you were able to get to this chapter okay. **GreenFairyGirl88:** Ever seen Moulin Rouge? With the "I'm the Green Fairy"... **Freak87:** I think I should have said this before, I like your little insights to the plot, shows you're thinking and seeing beyond the superficial material, reading between the lines. Oh, Rogue the main character, just couldn't have her be comatose until now y'know--would be bad for plot development. Annabel just loves Remy--who doesn't? **Werewolflass:** I do so much squealing writing this it's so messed up. Ooh God 5 papers already? I completely understand, though--God, in what country do you go to school?? Guess it's kinda good not to check too often, you get more chapters that way! **Flowerperson:** I remember where you went now! Missed ya bunch and glad I don't disappoint. The gazebo scene is most infamous for the heartbreak--but gotta love it still. **Skyangle2004:** Yeah, figured it would have been stupid leaving "Target" like it was, but not so sure "Rogue Remainder"'s ending was any less cliffhangerish. I guess you're right. I think once all the applications are in, I can just be anxious with the waiting and simply focus on schoolwork and life. Yeah...**Icy Discordia:** You're new and that's good. What _am_ I going to do with the plot now? If I didn't know we'd be in trouble, I think. Read on to find out how Remy deals with his findings.

* * *

Remy didn't bother stopping outside. That would have only wasted precious time. He crashed through the Institute's front doors upon the Harley, screeching across the foyer and leaving swoops of black skid marks. He hoped no one would be _too_ upset with him. Propping the motorcycle against the wall, he called out for Rogue, then Jean. They should have heard him come in--his entrance hadn't exactly been subtle.

He realized how quiet the mansion was. No sound reached his ears, no movement caught his eye. "Rogue? Chere, where y'at?" He hurried into the rec room, found it empty. He was about to head upstairs when he noticed the kitchen door sat ajar. The wood was skewered with many forks and knives. Dread leaked into the pit of his stomach.

As he entered the kitchen, his boots ground against shattered china. He looked around the disarray, noting the broken utilities and chipped walls. A telepath had done this, thrown everything around into chaotic wreckage. And Remy could think of only one reason why. He noticed the absence of a patio door. Shards of remaining glass hung precariously along the edges of the frame.

He rushed outside to a scene of pale moonlight glinting from shattered pieces of glass and reflecting off the placid waters of the pool. The scene appeared surreal. He saw the redhead first, lying on her back upon a bed of glass. Blood leaked from tiny scrapes on her hands. Remy picked her up, brushing harmful debris off her clothes, and set her on one of the tanning chairs. She looked asleep, just like the others. Remy frowned with worry and ran a hand through his hair. So Jean had been attacked--but where was Rogue?

A horrible scenario flashed across his mind. Farrat's men could not have gotten here so soon. Remy had taken the quickest route to the Institute. He turned back towards the mansion but a dark figure by the pool caught his eye.

She lay there on her side, one arm drooped lazily in the water and legs angled perpendicular to her body. Her bangs formed a white halo around her auburn head.

Remy was at her side in an instant, gently lifting her up. Holding his breath, he tilted her head up towards him. She remained completely still, breath even and shallow. "Rogue," Remy breathed. He shook her delicately, "C'mon, chere, wake up. Y'ain't in a coma. Y'can't be."

She looked so peaceful, so angelic. Maybe this was better for her. She didn't have to feel pain, was no longer trapped in her own skin or being harassed by multiple psyches. Remy stared at her for several long moments, losing track of time and space. He wasn't sure what to think, what to feel. There was only one way to be sure. He tenderly brushed his fingers along her pale cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Nothing happened. She had been absorbed.

_Annabel, why'd y'have to?_

A flicker of light flashed in the corner of his eye. He looked back towards the mansion and saw car headlights wash against the side of the house. The faint humming of engines and slamming of vehicle doors reached his ears. His muscles tensed and he gritted his teeth. Why now of all the times? Why did all these things keep happening? What he would give for one day of peace... So lost was he in his thoughts he didn't hear the groan when it first sounded. Only when something was squirming at him did he look down. His heart skipped a beat and the tightness in his chest released like a breath of air.

Rogue mashed her lips together in an expression of discomfort. She gasped for a breath, resting her forehead against his chest. "My head..." she moaned thickly.

Remy resisted the urge to clutch her close. "S'all right, chere, y'gon' be okay..." He helped her to a sitting position, marveling at her consciousness. "How'd y'survive it?"

Rogue blinked slowly, rubbed her face. "What...oh, Ah don't know...she was here--Annabel--and Ah felt her in my head. The psyches..." She frowned and looked at Remy with wide eyes, "They're gone--Remy, the psyches are gone!" The exclaimation pained her immensely and she grimaced, massaged her head. "Feels like...somebody socked me with a sledgehammer--more than once...."

Remy saw bloody cuts on her bare forearms. "Chere..." He frowned, reaching out and stroking the scratches on her neck. He felt her stiffen and jerk away by reflex.

She stared at him, green eyes incredulous. "What--Ah didn't absorb ya. Ah don't understand...oh, God my head..." She swooned dizzily and Remy caught her, an arm around her shoulders.

"Chere, we kinda in a fix," he said. Farrat's men were no doubt already in the building. "An' my gettaway ride's stuck in de foyer..."

"Velocity," Rogue rasped.

"What?"

"The heli-jet...under the basketball court--" She hissed vehemently as a bright light flashed before her eyes.

Remy turned towards the source.

"They're out here!" the man shouted. He fumbled with his flashlight and struggled to engage his weapon. He was too slow and a charged card exploded at his feet. With a loud wail he took to the air and collided with several of his buddies. "It's the same mutie from before!"

"How'd the hell he get here?"

Rogue began to run away, but immediately felt everything swirl around her. She stumbled and strong hands wrapped around her unstable form. The next thing she knew she was thrown over Remy's shoulder as bullets rained at them.

"Alive fools!" an angry voice yelled. "We need her alive!"

Rogue pounded Remy's back though the quick movements only made her head hurt more. "Jean! We left Jean!"

"Can't do anyt'ing fo'her now, chere," Remy said. He moved agilely through the trees, dodging low branches and leaping over thick brambles. All the while he held her firmly as she bounced on his shoulder. "Where's dis damn ball court?"

"Well, Ah can't see where we're goin', can Ah?" Rogue snapped through her pain. She was lowered to the ground and noticed Remy smirking.

"Glad t'see she didn't 'sorb dat sharp tongue, neh?"

Rogue couldn't think clearly enough to retort. She rubbed her temples and looked around the wooded area. Flashlight beams cut through the darkness some ways off; their pursuers were drawing nearer. She tried to remember the layout of the Institute. "That way," she said. "Ah think..." She begn a quick walk but the darkness and vertigo only made it more difficult. She felt Remy's arm around her again. "No, don't pick--" She growled in irritation as he ignored her demand.

"Y'can move 'bout well as a drunk, chere," Remy said. "Dis'll be quicker." Taking advantage of his red night vision, he moved through the trees with adroit precision. They had just broken out of the flora when stun beams sliced the air around them.

"What do they want with me?" Rogue gasped. She clung onto Remy as he leapt over the short fence surrounding the basketball court.

He shook his head, "Dunno," and set her on the ground. He dragged her behind some bleachers. Stun rays bounced off the metal seats parlously. "How we go'n' get t'de chopper, chere?"

"The storage shack," Rogue said absent-mindedly. She was wondering what hurt more--the shrieking of her psyches before or the now throbbing sting all around her skull. It felt as though chunks of her mind had been violently ripped away, and the remaints were desperately trying to piece themselves together. "A panel...it opens up the court from out here..."

Remy was already moving, grabbing her firmly by both arms. They ran across the basketball court, lightening beams of stunners covering their tracks. Rogue fell against the brick wall of the storehouse while Remy dealt with their advancing foes. She forced deep breaths as she tried to remember how to open up the court. A typical electric panel sat against one of the shack's exterior walls. Rogue flipped it open, and through the god-awful ache in her brain, tried to decipher all the switches, knobs, and wires.

"Aw, shit," she spat.

Remy cocked an eyebrow in her direction, "Bad news?"

"There's so many..." Rogue gritted. "Which damn button is it?!"

The last of Remy's charged cards impaired another wave of shooters. "A lil' haste be good, I t'ink," he said, looking around for something to blow up. His eyes landed on the shack. "What's in here, eh?" He zapped the lock free and pulled open the door, a grin spreading on his face. As he grabbed a cage of basketballs, he excited their dormant molecules, feeling the latent kinetic energy rising. Soon the whole cart was ablaze.

Rogue's mind was too boggled. Frustration at its peak, she growled and swept her gloved fingers across the switchboard. Something was either turned on or off; she didn't know what, nor did she care. Lights flickered. The buzzing of electrical circuits reached her ears.

Remy pulled the latch of the cart up and a sea of glowing basketballs tumbled free. His eyes flashed with satisfaction as the charged spheres impacted with a force tantamount to cannon balls. Those of Farrat's men in the front ranks didn't know what happened before they were blown away. Others cursed and many hightailed the scene like frightened children.

Admist the shouts and hazy smoke, the floor of the basketball court spread apart at the midline. Remy grabbed Rogue and dragged her to the edge of cavity. He leapt down and called for her to jump. He caught her easily and they made their way to the idle helicopter. Remy took the pilot seat while Rogue sat beside him, cradling her head.

"Can ya fly a chopper?" she asked doubtfully.

"Chere, when y'work for Magneto y'learn a few t'ings." As his hands twirled dials and pulled levers, the Velocity sprang to life.

Rogue gasped when the window on her side cracked. Farrat's men had given up with the stun guns and resorted back to bullets. They fired without hesitance, eager to take down the jet. Sparks flew with the pattering of metal digits striking the Velocity's exterior. Frowning severely, Rogue grabbed the gun controls and began firing without prejudice.

The helicopter ascended, lifting free from its underground abode. The basketball court became whole again as it cleared the space. Farrat's men fired in vain at the retreating jet.

As the Velocity flew away into the night sky, Rogue could relax, deflating against her seat. She looked down at the buildings below growing smaller and smaller.

"Y'okay, chere?"

She turned towards him, watching as he steadily piloted the helicopter. Through all the rush and action, she hadn't had time to register what was really happening. She observed the contracting muscles of his scuplted forearm, the grip of his resolute fingers. His unique eyes glanced at the monitors and dials every so often to ensure the safety of their aircraft. Rogue smiled faintly and almost cringed at the cheesey thought that crossed her mind, _My hero._ Annabel must have done a number on her head.

Remy saw the expression on her face. The corners of his mouth curved slightly. "I take dat as a yes?"

Remembering the way they had parted, Rogue winced and looked away. She was about to apologize when Remy spoke again.

"Where to now, chere?" he asked. "Both our places aren't safe anymore."

A great dismay fell upon her. The Institute and Acolyte base were overrun. She tried to fight back heavy dread as she thought of all the comatose X-Men lying vulnerable in the Med Bay, of Jean unconscious on the patio. She had never been in such a hopeless situation. Then a thought occurred to her. "Evan," she said urgently, "and the Morlocks. Fly us to New York."

Remy did as she asked.

The rest of the flight was spent in quiet contemplation. Both wanted to say many things but were reluctant to delve into such uncomfortable topics. Rogue continued to massage her pounding head. The pain had lessened just a tad, allowing her think about the Morlocks and Evan. She hoped they were okay.

* * *

Whoever had claimed money could not buy happiness was obviously poor and envious. Theodore Farrat could not disagree more with the vernacular statement. He sat ensconced within a plush, Persian armchair, loose with comfort. Reaching over, he picked up the three-hundred-thirty-eight-dollar bottle of wine and refilled his glass. "Gaja 1998 Langhe Nebbiolo Costa Russi," he sighed, loving the way the name rolled off his tongue. Italy was a great country, one he planned to visit after all these inconveniences had passed. He could probably find more expensive, more exquisite wine there; all they had was vineyards.

The den was serene and cozy that evening, faint opera music falling and rising in the background. As a fire provided warmth and a golden light, Theodore Farrat closed his eyes and took a sip of wine. He was a very simple man when everything was said and done. He did not need lavish entertainment or extensive materialistic pleasures. His Upper East Side home, though expensive, was chosen for its top quality and elegant beauty. All he wanted was a nice place to live. All he wanted was a comfortable life.

He stared at the flickering flames. They illuminated memories of London, of cobblestone streets and dark alleys. Within the orange heat he pictured a sickened mother, an irascible father, a troubled sister. He remembered days of labor and nights of hunger, of scratchy clothes barely useful in the winter, of food that tasted as plain as it looked...

The wine was sweet and tangy, a savory flavor in his mouth. Exquisite.

Times had changed since the years of youth. He was no longer cursed with the trifling burdens of survival. His steely blue eyes involuntarily turned towards the doorway, the one leading to Annabel's room. And yet he was not at ease. The present situation was threatening his peace of mind. Was it too much to have peace, a comfortable life? Patricia's daughter had been nothing but trouble since the day she was born. The automobile accident rendering her comatose was the best thing to have happened to the world.

Theodore remembered the child when she was first sent to him, young and innocent with a head of pretty black curls. Her father endowed her new guardian with more than enough money for both to live on.

"She must not be here," the Count had said. "She must not know of her mother's shadow."

Annabel was like a little doll, one that her uncle showered with gifts and fondness. He treated her like his own daughter, and for a long time, it felt like she was. But then her mutation manifested. Then she started ruining lives.

The alto opera voice reached a wailing crescendo. Absolutely heartbreaking. Theodore drew another sip of wine.

Annabel's powers were hardly noticeable in the beginning. She was only a young child of seven years, always playing and always laughing. She began testing her powers, absorbing people out of spite or fun, messing with their minds because she found it entertaining. One day a girl in her kindergarden class angered her. The girl died as class dismissed, found with a broken neck at the bottom of the stairs.

"What did you do?" Theodore had rasped in horror.

Little Annabel shrugged her petite shoulders, "Nothing, Uncle. She fell." She was only a child, one that did not understand the wrong she had committed.

Her powers were no longer a fun gift; they became a curse. She needed to touch, to drain others. The powers of her mind only aided in her childish hunts. She became a monstrosity. "I feel better afterwards," she said innocently. "If I don't touch people then I get sick."

Theodore laughed dryly upon remembering her words. He swirled the wine in its glass, watching the ambrosial liquid in fascination.

A child corrections facility had agreed to take her in. But the car never reached its destination. Police officers could not explain what had caused the vehicle to swerve off the cliffside. There had not been any road obstructions or other cars to cause such an accident. Theodore knew better. He stood by the torn roadside fence, watching as a crane lifted the car out of the bushes below. He saw the tattered bodies, all of them dead. And who would be the sole survivor but little Annabel herself?

_But you would never laugh or play again,_ Theodore thought, staring at the flames. He wondered what Patricia's last thoughts were before she perished. Mother and daughter, plagues among people and destructive to themselves. _Tragic._

Someone knocked at the door.

"Come in."

A brunette man entered, hard-set jaw clenched. His jacket was slicked from the light drizzle outside. As he approached the fireplace, he did not look at his employer. "I have some bad news, Mr. Farrat."

Theodore did not remove his attention from the fire. The light flickered in his cold eyes, glinting off of them sprightly. "What happened, Deaver."

"The mutant girl you asked us to retrieve escaped." He did not mention the demon-eyed man and admit to another failure.

"Were there so many at that Institute?" Theodore asked with a frown.

"No, sir. The girl was just very...capable."

"I see."

"I have dispatched some men to go after her. They'll pick up the trail and track her down. It'll only be a matter of time."

Theodore studied the man carefully. "You didn't kill Gambit, did you?" he accused knowingly. The man did not meet his gaze. "So the thief went and helped the girl and that is why she escaped."

Deaver did not reply.

"Fool," Theodore spat. He clutched the wine glass so tightly it shattered in his hands.

"Sir--"

Theodore held up a hand to silence him, staring at the blood. He calmly pulled out a handkerchief from his blazer pocket. "Ready the private jet," he said, picking rogue shards of glass from his flesh. "Have some men begin packing my things, as well as some of Annabel's."

Deaver frowned curiously, "Uh, sir, we are still pursuing the girl and--"

"My niece and I are leaving this city before anything else unexpected happens," Theodore cut him off. He wrapped the handkerchief around his hand and tied it securely in place. "Your incompetence is causing much strife, Deaver. Find the mutants and eliminate the threat."

Deaver nodded obediently and left to carry out his orders.

Theodore cursed under his breath as he picked up the phone. He would need to call the Count's American financier, make sure all the money issues were taken care of. He would lease the house for a while after it had been cleared. Spending an extended period of time out of the country was the safest thing to do.

_If that thieving fool wakes her up..._ Theodore thought angrily. _He will try. That is why he came that night asking for her and Patricia. He's trying to save her._

It was not going to happen, Theodore decided. He had worked too hard to make things right and no backwater thief was going to ruin it all.

* * *

**This guy I dated for a two weeks was a friend that **knew me very well and I think that's one of the reasons I was so turned off by his approaches--but the POINT is, he figured out that I am an immensely curious human being, more so than is normal for others of this grand species.

So my curiosity generates another question that's itching to get answered: **Are we all girls here?** Hahaha, that may seem random, which it is, but I was just wondering. Maybe you'll out a **M** or **F** in your review to let me know. Figures if I see a lot of "F"s bc all the Remy-loving would generate a lot of females, well, unless you've got guys like the butt-fond waiter from a previous chapter...And guys, no shame in loving Remy. He is a fine specimen.

**And about that weird wine name...**I actually went online to look up some Italian wines and picked the most expensive bottle that was being sold. So that's where _that_ came from.

But okay! I have a knack for going off on tangents and I just remembered I haven't been doing this lately.........

**Next Chapter: Haven No More**


	21. Haven No More

**Universally known: school keeps you busy. **It takes up all of your young life and then a chunk of your mature life, depending on what your job is. What a pain... And everybody pray that Raven gets into the college that she wants okay? Because once she's enrolled at a prestigious university, she'll learn so much, her writing skills will improve, and she'll deliver even better fanfics--imagine that! Ok, so get to it!

Yeah, I'm just a little desperate.

I don't have much time for review replies so I'm only going to answer a few questions that stuck out. Nothing personal--I'll catch you guys next time maybe bc you all know I love talking to you! But thanks to all those who reviewed--and the few that just started reviewing even though they've been reading since the beginning! I wish I'd had those voices of input sooner, but hey, better late than never as the saying goes...

Oh, and **GreenFairy--**your penname just reminded me of in _Moulin Rouge_ where they drank absinthe and saw little green fairies. God, that's the most random thought ever.

**And all you new reviewers--thanks for the input! I love reading reviews!**

**So anyway, check these out. The questions may be of interest to you!**

**Q: If Annabel isn't happy, why doesn't she attack her uncle?** I was wondering how long it would take for someone to ask this! It was to be explained later in the story but not a big deal if I did it now. Basically she's a mutant predator, ergo she can only attack mutants while in her astral form. She's not a physical entity, just a projection, one that's attracted to mutant brain signatures and the like. So she can't hurt her uncle or anyone non-mutant.

**Q: Do these ideas come to you while you're sleeping? Or do you daydream? Does a family member assist you?** Bascially it goes, "Hmm, what do I want to happen next" and I ponder while working or eating or doing something else--I can never just do one thing at a time. Then little plots and machinations form in my head and I wish someone could draw a picture of what's going on in my brain bc it's just a web that keeps expanding and getting more and more complicating until _BAM_ you've got Demon In My View.

Most of the stuff that's happened--chapters like "Distractions", "Love In Vain" weren't even planned. Ideas pop my head while I'm writing and I just let my thoughts carry me along.

Plus, just the poetry of the Rogue and Remy story inspires me enough to come up with ideas. How poetic (for there is no other word I can think of to describe it) is it that Remy LeBeau falls in love with an unntouchable introvert when he himself thrives on touch and is an incredibly outgoing type of person? Poetry.

And no one helps me--nobody even knows I'm writing this fic and my friends would definitely think I had gone crazy if they knew my new little hobby. But hey, it's my secret and I enjoy keeping it.

**Q: Is the m/f question just a ploy to get more reviews?** --gasp-- I'm shocked that someone would think I was _that_ conniving! Actually, I think I am, otherwise the twists in this story would be nonexistant and many people would be disappointed--but NO, it was not a ploy! I am just that curious of a person. Honestly. Results are down a few centimeters.

**Q:** **Will we be seeing more of Sinister and Morph soon? **They have a little part later on in this story but this fic is basically for introductory purposes concerning their roles. Sinister and Morph will have larger parts in the sequel. I'm still trying to come up with a good, all-plot-encompassing title for the next fic...that's the toughest part it seems...

**Any other questions about the plot were eventually be answered by the end of the story. At least I've planned it that way. **Maybe I should have written a warning in the beginning that this is a complex story...heh.

**MALE OR FEMALE POLL RESULTS: **100 of reviewers are girls! But that's to be expected right? Just the pennames kinda made me think otherwise so I imagine I'll keep thinking some of you are guys (which is an entertaining thought) even while you're not. My mind works in weird ways!

So here's the next chapter. I do this for you, I do it for me--either way, it's incredibly gratifying to be able to write and have fun at it. Plus, the literary practice is a bonus!

* * *

"Why anybody'd _choose_ t'live down here, I'll never understand," Remy muttered. He stepped around a discolored pile of goo, not bothering to wonder what it was.

"Sometimes the best choice isn't the easiest."

Rogue led the way. Surprisingly, she remembered the secret passage to the Morlock lair. The gloomy darkness of the sewers soothed her mind. It was peaceful under the city, a thorough contrast to the usual pandemonium above. Only the smell bothered her.

As they crawled through the narrow tunnel, she was ever aware of the silence in her mind though the pain had subsided to a low buzzing. It was strange with the psyches gone. She felt uncluttered and free, like a vacant house after all the junk was removed. There was so much refreshing space. Her sneaker landed in a slick puddle. She uttered a gasp before falling backwards.

Remy caught her easily, "Y'all right?" His voice was tinged with needless concern.

Her green zip-up hoodie was ridden up where his arm clutched her waist. She felt his fingers against her skin, ever aware that her powers were gone. His flesh seemed to burn against hers. "Ah'm--Ah'm fine," she said, easing herself free. She suddenly felt awkward around him. Her words from the gazebo held no merit now, their significance drained away along with the psyches and her mutation.

Remy seemed to notice her discomfort. Stepping around her, he moved on ahead. "Which way now?"

Rogue took a deep breath, "Take a right. There's a latch hidden in the side."

It took a while for them to locate it. When they did Rogue climbed in first and Remy closed it behind them. Within a few minutes they crawled into the cavernous lair of the Morlocks.

"Rogue?"

She had never been more glad to see Evan. She threw her arms around him.

Her uncharacteristic actions surprised him. He blinked in confusion before hugging her back. "Nice to see you, too." He noticed the red-eyed Acolyte and frowned, "What's he doing here?"

Rogue pulled away and waved aside his accusatory tone. "He's not our enemy right now," she said. "The mansion was under attack and Gambit saved me." She looked down at the sewer floor. "Everybody's been taken, Evan."

At first he didn't quite understand. Then his large brown eyes widened upon realization. "The predator? All of them? How--what about the Professor? My aunt?"

Rogue felt Remy's hand on her shoulder. "She--uh, they went to Austria and never came back. We haven't been contacted for while now and...nobody has any idea what happened to them." She began explaining the events of the past days, ending with what drove them to the Morlock Tunnels.

"Sounds like you X-Men have run low on luck," a female voice said. Callisto approached, arms crossed. The one eye not covered by the black patch frowned at them. "You'll lead those people to us, along with the mutant predator."

Remy narrowed his eyes, "We weren't followed."

Callisto matched his gaze with one of her own, "How do you know?"

"We've been very lucky so far," Evan said quickly. He swept his hand around at the numerous Morlocks engaged in their own activities. "Marrow's the only one who got attacked. We think it's because we aren't topsiders you know? That thing doesn't really know about us."

Rogue shook her head, "Ya're wrong, Evan. If she's absorbed Marrow then she has her thoughts and _does_ know about you guys. She's probably just too busy with topsiders to get to you guys or somethin'..."

"She?" Callisto frowned. "Do you know this mutant predator personally?"

"Ah've...talked to her."

Callisto and Evan exchanged glances.

"It's not like Ah'm possessed or anything," Rogue said quickly. "She tried to absorb me but it didn't work--sort of. Ah think it's 'cause Ah had so many psyches in my mind that she got them instead of me, along with my powers, and she didn't realize it."

"That mean you can touch?" Evan asked.

Rogue didn't get the chance to answer. Callisto asked, "Those men that attacked you--what do they want?"

Remy and Rogue could not tell her. Callisto continued to study them. She turned to Evan, "They can't stay here. If those suits are so stuck on claiming Rogue then she's a liability to all of us."

Evan looked at Rogue then Callisto. His loyalties were being tested and he did not like it. "At least have them stay the night," he said finally. "They look a mess."

Callisto stared at the outsiders in silent calculation, "Very well, but they must leave as soon as possible. There's too much here at risk." Casting one last glance their way, she returned her attention to her people.

"Thanks, Evan," Rogue murmured.

"Hey, X-Men watch out for each other, right?" he said with a tight smile. He seemed much older, the protruding bones of his mutation causing him to appear menacing. Rogue knew about his minor uprising movement, the protests he personally made against mutant discrimination. She admired him to no end for his courage and efforts.

_Things like that make ya grow up fast,_ she thought regretfully.

"Come on, I'll show you the Med area," Evan said.

Rogue followed with Remy behind. They went through a short tunnel and reached a sewer grotto. Wooden crates lined one wall, plain white sheets draped across them for more comfortable seating. On the opposite side were raggedy cots with bedside tables of cardboard boxes. Evan moved to one of the boxes and pulled open the flap as though it was a cupboard. He removed bottles of antiseptic and cotton swabs. "We're low on Band-Aids," he said in apology.

"Dat's okay, homme," Remy said. "We didn't come t'use up y'supplies."

Rogue could not help but notice the meager health care attempts. "We'll bring you some supplies after all this...stuff is settled," she promised.

Evan shrugged, "No big deal. We usually stock up whenever we're low. Recently everyone's been paranoid about going up. They think it'll expose them to the predator." He sighed wearily. "Anyway, I'll let you guys get cleaned up."

"Thanks again, Evan," Rogue said.

"Hey, don't worry about it," he assured, patting her shoulder. "Get some rest and try not to worry too much. They know how to care of themselves." He headed back through the tunnel and disappeared.

Remy watched him leave, "Kid's different from last I saw."

Rogue nodded in agreement while sliding off her gloves. She doused a cotton ball with antiseptic and dabbed it against the cuts on her hands and forearms. She winced from the sting.

"Lemme do it, chere," Remy said. He nudged her to sit on one of the cots and knelt on the floor in front of her. Taking her hands gingerly, he lightly pressed the cotton to her skin. The cuts didn't sting as much when he tended them. As he dabbed the incisions, his fingers massaged her hands, grazing the soft flesh over and over again as though marveling at the sheer contact.

Rogue watched him as he remained focused on his task. Her eyes traced the bridge of his nose, the curve of his cheek, the sculpted perfection of his jaw. She was ever aware that he was touching her, holding her bare hands. She stared at their entwined fingers and breathed slowly as the silence became all too loud. He began dabbing at the glass scrapes on her throat. Her heart pounded and she wondered if he could feel the pulse. His eyes would not meet hers, keeping an obstinate gaze on her minscule wounds.

When he was done he began capping the bottle of antiseptic. "You'll be all right, long's dey don't get infected or anythin'..."

Rogue noticed much of his smooth, tawny face was smudged with soot and ash. Without giving it a second thought, she reached up and brushed away the grime. He seemed surprised at her action, twitching back slightly. Rogue continued to caress his face, smooth away the smudges, enjoying the feel of his skin. A tiny smile graced her lips. So this was touch. This was what she had wanted since she could remember.

His eyes were focused on hers, exciting many feelings amorous. As he drew closer, she felt his breath caress her cheek. Her eyelids drooped in anticipation. "Remy," she said quietly.

"Yeah," he murmured. His forehead pressed against hers, their lips nearly touching.

Rogue searched for words. So many feelings, so many desires. It was almost as difficult as sorting through all the psyches. With them gone, she still couldn't seem to think straight. "Ah'm..." Her gaze fell and she noticed a red stain on his arm. "You're bleeding!"

"Don' worry 'bout it," he said.

She scowled at him, "Take off your jacket."

Remy smirked but said nothing. Sliding off the trench coat, he revealed a nasty bullet trail on his bicep. "Huh, didn' seem so bad before."

"My God, Remy," Rogue breathed. She pulled him onto the cot beside her and began cleaning the wound. "All the nerve ya have, just talkin' like you aren't hurt."

"Chere, y'concern's flattering."

Rogue frowned at him and looked around for some bandages. At the next cot, the cardboard box contained shreds of torn white cloth. She gathered a few strips along with antibacterial ointment. "Ah wanna know what those guys are after," she said.

Remy shook his head, "You, chere. Dey're after you." He winced when she began wrapping the bandage around the gash. "Dey came t'de base, tried t'take me out. Theodore Farrat sent dem."

"Farrat? What's he want with me?" Rogue frowned. "Ah've never even met him before." She shook her head in perturbation, "He's Patricia Velkonnen's brother, Remy. And Annabel is her daughter." Seeing his questioning expression, she began explaining all she knew, all that had happened. Slowly the pieces of the puzzle came together.

"Den de Professor an' dem..."

"Went to Austria for nothing," Rogue finished. "And they haven't come back so something bad happened. Maybe the Count...Ah don't know." She tied off the bandage and sighed, resting on the cot beside him. "Everything's just gettin' more and more messed up as we go along."

Remy grew increasingly troubled with the new information. "I saw her, Rogue," he told her. "I went t'see Farrat an' Annabel was dere, all happy like an' normal. Confusin' as hell."

"But--how?"

"Don' know...but it couldn't've been her. De Annabel we know is hurtin', Farrat's doin' somet'ing t'her an' she's angry." Remy explained about his dreams, about the ghost's visit, and the feelings he had received from her.

Rogue shivered, "This's is all like a nightmare."

Remy took her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. "I can see some good t'ings comin' out of it," he murmured.

Rogue smiled weakly and leaned against him. As she buried her face in his shoulder he wrapped an arm around hers. He stroked her soft tresses, resting his cheek against the top of her head. They remained that way, content with the comfort. Despite the dire situation threatening their livelihood, her touch was a large consolation. Remy didn't care how ridiculous that seemed. He smiled faintly as Rogue began caressing his forearm, running her fingers along his skin in fascination.

"Feels strange," she murmured. Her breath grazed his neck. "Ah never thought Ah'd..." She smiled and shook her head.

Remy brushed her chin with his fingers, raising her face to look at him. "Anyt'ing can happen, chere," he said softly. "Y'don' have t'be afraid anymore."

She looked down guiltily. "Remy, at the gazebo, Ah didn't mean--"

"S'fine."

"But what Ah did..."

"I understand where y'were comin' from," he said, leaning back. "But dat ain't de problem anymore, is it?" He could see her reluctance. She was retreating back into her shell, putting on a mask to keep herself safe. He was beginning to think that after being betrayed so often, she could no longer trust another person. "Somet'ing else y'wan' let me know?"

Rogue closed her eyes and took a breath. When she looked up she was smiling. "Yeah," she said and leaned up, pressing her mouth against his.

Remy blinked in surprise. He had expected her to reveal some barrier, some obstacle he needed to overcome in order to get through to her. But the kiss... He pulled her closer, feeling the massage of her lips against his. Her gestures were tentative while his teased her pleasures, nibbling upon her lip and urging her to indulge.

Rogue moaned into him as his kisses became long and lingering. Her hands found their way around his neck, trailing along his firm shoulders, down his sculpted arms, around his waist. She had never known such a feeling, such a sweet tenderness that ignited a warmth within, that made her melt.

He moved away from her lips, mouth tracing the line of her jaw and kissing down her throat. He was careful with her cuts, nudging them softly with care. Touching her was such a marvel. Her skin possessed a delectable softness from years of coverage; it was pure, tender, and unspoiled. Saved just for him, it seemed. When he found her mouth again he drank in her essence, wanting to engulf every bit of her, feel her every substance.

They pulled away breathlessly, resting against each other. Remy continued to stroke Rogue's hair while she nuzzled at his throat. He heard her sigh contentedly, felt the curve of her lips into a smile against his skin. He closed his eyes and reveled in her warmth. Time passed without acknowledgment and Remy realized he had never held anyone like this before. He looked down at her soft auburn hair, his fingers weaving through the locks. Things had changed since he first sought the X-Men for aid. He hadn't realized before just how many. Beholding such irony, he could not help the chuckle that rose from his throat.

Rogue lifted her head up, looking at him suspiciously, "What's funny?"

"Me," he said with a shrug. "Jus' never t'ought I'd ever see myself like dis." He knew he sounded vague and ambiguous, but there was no real way to explain his epiphany.

Yet Rogue seemed to understand. She kissed his jaw and rested her head on his shoulder again. "People change," she said simply.

Remy had to smile--she had summed up all his confusing thoughts with two vernacular words. "Y'just full o'sagely wisdom, ain't y'chere?"

"Enjoy it while it lasts," she drawled. "Gotta be the aftermath of an emptied head."

Remy sighed, "Ahhh, no more psyches."

"No more psyches," Rogue nodded, still incredulous. "Just mine."

"An' dat's de best one, non?"

Rogue smiled at him. Not before long, her cheeks burned and she averted her eyes, self-conscious under his deep gaze. No one had ever wasted time looking at her like that, with such intensity and profoundness. It was strange, frightening, and wonderful all at once--a whirligig of emotions and thoughts that threatened to overwhelm--but provoked such measureless ecstasy. There was something here, something special that she should fight to hold on to. A cold foreboding crept upon her insides and she moved closer to Remy without thinking.

Being an X-Man was not an easy calling. The risk, the danger, the threat upon precious life... It had never been much of a problem before. Rogue, as well as the others, knew any day something might happen where their mutant powers could not save them. Any day one of them might walk the final path. Nobody spoke of it, never wanted to acknowledge the real danger of being part of the team, but each and every one knew what was at stake.

Rogue drew in a sharp breath and buried her face in Remy's shoulder. He continued to stroke her hair.

She never really cared about the danger, never gave the threats to her life a second thought. What did it matter if she died? Death almost seemed favorable compared to a life in the prison of her own skin. Her existence was nothing special and made little difference to the world around. But now with Remy... She had so much more to live for; she had so much more to lose.

* * *

Dawn would not arrive nearly soon enough. Thompson grabbed the thermos he had snuck into the truck. He unscrewed the cap and gulped mouthfuls of black coffee. A heavy weariness threatened to impair his senses. Leaning back against the truck, he looked up and down the street, eyes landing on Columbus Circle. A hobo was taking a leak upon the sculpture. Thompson wondered if the homeless man was trying to make a statement.

He and the others had arrived nearly half an hour ago. They had located the escape aircraft abandoned in a wooded area of Central Park. Being in the wee, ungodly hours of a summer morning, nobody had noticed the jet land. Thompson remembered ransacking the interior of the Velocity--it was one fine piece of machinery. He imagined himself behind the controls, speaking into a mouthpiece while manuevering through life-threatening obstructions. Just like in the movies.

The misty drizzle begun an hour ago continued to persist. Thompson wiped a hand across his slicked forehead. He was not an action star like in the movies. He wasn't even allowed to drive the vehicle he leaned against. He was simply another one of Farrat's lackeys, bereft of all authority, priviledges, or fun. He needed to find a new job, one that would let him use explosives and operate complex technologies--like James Bond. God, any man who lived a life like 007's was a lucky bastard. Thompson didn't even want to contemplate all the beautiful women the man got to screw.

_"No sign of query in surrounding CP area," _Thompson's comm unit cackled. He glanced down at it as if surprised. _"Expand to radius of two kilometers."_

"Perry, you're such an idiot," Thompson huffed. They weren't undercover operatives--there was no need for curt sentences lacking prepositions and pronouns, or superfulous use of the metric system. He grabbed his comm unit and said into the moutpiece, "Cut the spy-talk, Perry. What do you mean two kilometers? You think they'll just be loitering the area?"

Static and cackling replied to him. Cheap pieces of radio communication junk. Then, _"Should've guessed that was you, Thompson. Got any better ideas, you secret agent wannabe?"_

Thompson bristled under the comment. "Obviously they went and hid somewhere," he gritted, "and I doubt the coonass would've led the girl off somewhere easy to find."

_"Coonass?"_

"You didn't hear his accent?" Thompson asked with a huff of disdain. He may not have known much, but he recognized a Cajun when he heard one. "That card-throwing mutie is itching to get killed. He keeps..." His words trailed away as he noticed a quirky figure emerging from the darkness of a closed grocery shop. He ignored Perry's calls and left his post. As he moved closer to investigate, he shut off the comm unit.

A beady-eyed African woman walked out into the middle of the street. While one arm hefted a bag of pilfered grocery items, the other lifted the covering of a manhole. As she set the heavy disc aside, the ground beside her began to shift. From a deep pool of dark, bubbly mass, a man formed. The camoflauge disappeared to reveal a head of shoulder-length dark hair tied back in a pony tail. Two strings of wispy mustache hung from under the man's nose, causing his face to have a catfish-like appearance. In his emaciated arms was also clutched a bulky grocery bag.

Thompson stood hidden around the street corner, his mouth a perfect O of shock.

The catfish man looked up and down the street as his companion lowered herself into the sewers. After waiting a few moments he eased the grocery back into the hole before climbing in himself. He replaced the sewer cover with a quiet metallic _clink._

Thompson nearly fell over from exhiliration. He snatched his comm unit and hissed, "We've got muties in the sewers!" As his grand discovery was heard by the rest of the team, orders were barked across the radio frequencies. Everyone was on the same train of thought. In a few more minutes they would arrive at the scene.

Thompson smirked in satisfaction. He wasn't just one of Farrat's lowly lackeys now--he had actually done something useful. Returning to the parked truck, he took another swig of coffee though it was mainly for taste rather than need. He wondered how long it would take to find the two renegades. Hell, maybe he'd even be the one to take down the self-resurrecting Cajun. That one sure died hard.

"Just like in the movies," Thompson almost laughed. He drank more coffee and waited.

* * *

Rogue jerked out from her nap when the commotion reached her ears. She had been alerted by too many screams lately and it was beginning to wear on her nerves. Groggy from interrupted sleep, she crawled off the cot and rubbed her eyes. Remy continued to slumber in the cot adjacent to hers. She watched him sleep, admiring his face and the relaxed expression it held. How could a guy look so perfect? It just didn't seem biologically possible.

She suddenly remembered why she had awoken. Alarmed shouts sounded from the main tunnels of the Morlock lair. She grabbed Remy and shook him hard, "Wake up!"

His eyes widended, then squinted from tiredness. He yawned, "Why, chere? Was havin' a grand ol' dream..."

"Somethin's happening--we gotta go, come on!"

"Y'were in it, chere. Y'were de star..." He sat up and saw that she was already heading out of the med area. Snatching his trench coat, he ran to catch up.

Rogue jumped out of the tunnel and collided into a young girl with bloated hands. "Oh, sorry. Ya all right?" She helped the girl up.

"Let her go," a sharp voice snapped. Callisto approached and pulled the girl away. She ushered the child to the mutant called Caliban, who was directing a group of Morlocks out an escape passage.

Remy looked around at the mutants rushing to gather things and evacuate. "What's gotten all deir strings in a knot?"

Callisto glared at him, "I told you this would happen. Those men after Rogue have tracked you down. A few of them were detected in the exterior sewers. If they keep advancing they'll reach our lair and we'll be exposed." Her calm anger was perhaps more frightening than if she had lashed at them with screams.

"Y'don' have t'all run away," Remy said, returning her hard gaze. "If y'build some kind o'resistance...."

"Spyke has already gathered a team. The majority of the Morlocks are only meager mutants who have just begun to tap into their powers. They are not fighers," Callisto emphasized. Her eyes widened when an elderly mutant collapsed to the ground. She rushed to his side and helped him up until a woman came to take his arm. Callisto made sure they were sound before turning her attention back to Gambit and Rogue.

' Despite her steely attitute towards outsiders, Rogue could tell Callisto was a true leader dedicated to the safety and welfare of her people. Such devotion was admirable, and Rogue felt like a nasty splinter in the Morlocks' lives to be the reason they were fleeing their home.

"Ah'm sorry," Rogue heard herself saying.

Callisto's eyebrows shot up, "What?"

Rogue ignored any feeling of guilt, allowed the heavy grip of duty to arise instead. "You shouldn't have to run away because of one mutant. Ah know you're too righteous to just hand me over to them--though the idea's crossed ya mind, right?"

"We would never do that," Callisto gritted under narrowed eyes. "The fact that you would even suggest such blasphemy is an incredible insult. Mutants must band together--"

"Ah'll go out to them," Rogue cut her off.

Remy's eyes blazed in her direction, "Chere?"

"Ah'll draw 'em away so they won't find your lair," Rogue said, making up a plan as she went along. "Take me to where Evan's fighting and Ah can catch their attention and, uh...lead 'em away from here...."

Callisto stared at Rogue with a sour expression on her face, "That's your brilliant plan? What happens after you get kidnapped?" She scoffed in disdain.

Rogue bristled, "Like you'd care if Ah did. Long's Ah'm outta your hands ya don't have to worry beyond that!"

"Listen here, _school girl,_" Callisto seethed, stepping forward menacingly. "I've been dealing with crap like this longer than you and if you keep acting like some backwater, wannabe superhero--"

"Cut de hissy fit," Remy snapped. He turned to stare dubiously at Rogue, "Y'crazy, chere? Y'know what sort o'danger y'gon' be puttin' y'self in?"

"Got any better ideas?" she demanded. "Those goons have heavy artillery they're not afraid of usin'. Ah don't want people's lives blown apart 'cause of me."

Remy continued to stare at her, his expression unreadable but hard.

Callisto was ever aware of the tension but decided it was unimportant in the wide scheme of things. The Morlock home could not be discovered. "Spyke led the team this way," she said, and urged the outsiders to follow. She hurried through a sewer tunnel and disappeared.

Without another word Rogue ran after Callisto. Remy growled in frustration and followed.

They dashed through passages narrow and wide, feet splashing into water and nameless substances. As they drew further from the main Morlock habitat, sounds of battle and incoherent yells reached their ears. Callisto came to a stop at the tunnel end, bent at the knees. Without warning she swung out her leg and viciously kicked the man passing by. With a throaty "Oof" he stumbled backwards and dropped his gun. Callisto reeled on him again, her booted heel colliding with his jaw until he splashed into a puddle, motionless.

Though the man had seemingly come from nowhere, Rogue soon saw the main fight.

Bone-spikes bombarded a group of a dozen or so armed men further down the passage. Through the throng of flailing limbs and flying bodies, Morlocks defended and evaded while strangers attacked. Mutant powers could only go so far against bullets and plasma rays. As Callisto, Rogue, and Remy ran to join the fray, Spyke was tackled to the damp ground.

Remy easily jerked the man off, punching him effectively across the face. He helped Spyke to his feet, "Y'all right, mon ami?"

He nodded then frowned at Rogue, "What are you doing here? Run before they--"

"It's the girl!" a voice shouted. "Don't shoot her!"

Remy cursed under his breath and decked the first of Farrat's men to advance. "Chere, dis ain't a good idea..." His words trailed away as he realized she had already started retreating.

"Ya want me?" she called to them. "Come and get me!" She disappeared into an adjacent tunnel.

Farrat's men scrambled to break the Morlock obstruction. Weapons were adjusted to stun as they pursued their query, knocking aside any mutant that stood in their way. Remy and the Morlocks tried to slow them down, but their determination seemed to have heightened since spotting the target.

A stun ray impacted Remy's chest, disorienting him. He fell against the sewer's grimey wall, holding his head. In his confusion all motion blurred into a kaleidoscope of gyrating colors. Then he noticed something floating in the midst of the brawl, the smoky figure of a girl. His eyes widened but he couldn't register the thought. Suddenly someone grabbed him by the trench coat collar, pulling him forward just to slam him against the wall again.

"Just can't stay dead, huh, coonass?"

Remy's jaw hardened at hearing such a derogatory address. "Y'got a problem wit' Cajuns, homme?"

Thompson replied with an ear-splitting wail. Spikes impaled his hand bearing the gun and he clutched at it in horror. His shouts were shortly cut off as Callisto's heel met his face. He splashed into a pool of sewage.

"Could've handled him m'self," Remy said, massaging his neck.

"Right," Spyke muttered. He looked around at the injured Morlocks and few fallen intruders. "They were sure in a hurry to get after Rogue."

Remy nodded, searching the scene for the smoky figure. All he saw were Morlocks gathering their injured and detaining the intruders. Had he just imagined it? Truthfully, he wished Annabel would come, explain to him the reason behind all the present madness.

"Does Rogue even know her way around these sewers?" Callisto suddenly asked. She placed her hands expectantly on her hips, glaring questioningly at the two males. "Well?"

Spyke shot her a worried glance.

Remy ran a hand through his hair and clenched his eyes shut. _Chere, what'd y' get y'self into?_

* * *

**Note**_ I got from The Charged Deck that "coonass"_ is the most derogatory slang term for a Cajun, just in case you guys were curious about the word choice.


	22. Along the Sidelines

**Foreshadowing does a lot to hint about what's to come.** That is all I will say about that.

**Honestly, guiltily **sorry about such a tardy update. It sickens me b/c I'm the speedy updater around these parts. --sigh-- What will you do, huh? Somehow I don't think people would understand if I told them I was getting behind in school work because I was writing fanfiction. The world is so critical. --rolls eyes--

**Blackrougefillie:** Of course Rogue lives! If she were to be comatose, then, well how bored would we all be? Sneakiness is the key to a seductively intriguing storyline. Yes, keep "rouge", it sounds pretty. **Flowerperson:** yeah, Rogue's not exactly being completely wise at the moment, but urgency calls for quick action, right? As for sinister and such, well, the plot leaks into a different story--we'll never know in this fic! **Sweety8587:** that mop of yours seems to come in handy. As for Rogue...hmm...you'll see in the next chapter. **Cd lover:** a genius among geniuses?? Don't worry, I'll never get sick of hearing it. Very glad you're loving this fic so much! **Enchanted light:** as always **GreenFairyGirl88: **Yay for me...sniff, oh the stress...at least I have fun writing this stuff. **Kendokao:** Gosh, I know. Sometimes it's embarassing how us girls love all the romancey stuff. Heh, more like lost. **Allie:** --sigh-- sweet Remy kisses...don't you just wish? **Epona04:** Isn't it cool how things can turn out so nicely when so unplanned? The way the mind works...! **SickmindedSucker:** Hmm, didn't think of Remy going with her...but she left urgently without warning anyway so that accounts for it. As for Annabel appearing, she's trying to get Remy's attention because, well, stuff's about to happen that she doesn't favor. **RogueCajunozsgirl:** I'm sorry, didn't mean to ignore your question, just didn't notice it as much. Theodore isn't going to have Sinister manipulate Annabel's genes. The thought doesn't cross his mind because it's not the central focus of the story--as far as Theodore is concerned, Annabel is going to be kept sleeping for as long as he can manage. Hmm, so _you've_ heard of "coonass". Good, wasn't sure if it was a real word or not. **A.M.bookworm247:** Holy...for a middle school girl your review is impressive. You must write really good papers--as a senior, I haven't seen some people in my own grade who're as literate as you! Thank you so much for being so sweet, kind, and complimenting. The description of the angst, love, hate, fun--very understandable and I'm happy to be able to give you all of that. I wrote this with hopes of being different from all the other mindless fics out there that just weren't satisfying. Glad this worked! **Just me:** is getting funny lately...What's up with all the changes every two days? Jeez... _Farrat_ doesn't want Rogue, he's just the deliverer for Sinister. And it was about time for some good Rogue and Remy sweetness, don't you agree? They're sure gonna need the motive to keep fighting once all the drama unfolds. **Ishandahalf:** Sure would be nice if Remy had this innate intuition to whenever Rogue's in trouble--sorta like that empathy deal. As for her powers--you'll just have to see. By the way, I'm eager to know what's going to happen in _your_ fic now that both their memories have been erased. **Aro:** Thank you much! Did you read all twenty-one chapters in one sitting? I'm impressed, and glad you enjoyed it. **Freak87**:I can't remember why I even included a hobo--I think it was completely by impulse! Great insights into Thompson, don't think many got that. And it's so timely you should ask about the Prof, Wolvie, and 'Ro b/c here they are. **PomegranateQueen:** Completely chance that I stumbled upon the term. Worked nicely incoporated into the story. But are you being sarcastic? I seriously can't tell. **Totally Obsessed47:** I think this was rather tardy. **Gren44:** Ol' Theo is questionable, very wishy-washy with his thoughts and values, but we'll see how he turns out. Ugh, don't remind me about college--applications and essays are hell!! I should really be doing those instead of this but...**silky black:** it's so hard to have geniune moments of happiness admist just extreme action and angst--but there is no worry with Rogue and Gambit because, come on, it was just meant to be! Oh, and I totally empathize on the school-bitching bc--look how long it's taken me to update! And I'm stressing out bc of two papers due on Monday and a physics test with material I don't understand. I'm so screwed.

**So, have any of you been wondering what's been up with the vacated X-Men that haven't gone comatose--YES there are still some remaining.** If I, myself, have kept track accurately, they only ones left are...well, keeping reading and you'll see. They're not idle bystanders either--and we'll see how things in Austria are stirring as well.

* * *

The hour was late, or early, depending on how one perceived two o' clock in the morning. Though most along the eastern coastline were fast asleep, others were not granted such leisure. Others, like Ray Crisp, stayed up watching reruns of live news reports from earlier in the day. Sleep continued to elude him and he had nothing better to do.

_"Mutant attacks have increased in frequency during the past week,"_ the youthful reporter Trish Tilby said. _"As the number of casualties mount, doctors are still unable to determine the source of these attacksor the reason for a prolonged comatose state."_ In actuality, it was not Trish Tilby he was looking at, nor was it Trish Tilby that he heard. It was a beam of electrons striking a phosphorous-coated glass screen, projecting the image of an attractive, dark-haired journalist. Where and how the sound of her voice came, was a whole other science--one that Ray knew nothing about.

He felt an electric cackle of energy in his hand as he grabbed the TV remote to turn up the volume. Struggling to subdue the current, he dropped the remote to keep from frying its circuits. He cursed under his breath, glad his parents weren't around to witness the little episode. They were still under the impression that he had unwavering control over his powers. Only with that belief could they cope with having a mutant son.

Ray did have control ninety-nine percent of the time. But in moments of anxiety or distressing revelation, a few surrounding things became slightly electrocuted. He scowled at his hand, willing the tiny bolts of electiricty to disperse.

Meanwhile, the electron-phosphorous projection of Trish Tilby continued to report: _"Recently, one Dr. Cecilia Reyes of New York's Bronx district has formed a theory on the mutant victims' comatose condition. She believes that the stronger the mutant is with his or her abilities, the greater chance they have of survival. In this case, survival means a prolonged comatose state. Several victims have already perished, but from thorough investigation on the part of doctors and police officials, they were found to be unaware of their abilities or hardly used them at all..."_

Ray's eyebrows shot up, the last of his electrical impulses disintegrating. He scratched his head in confusion. The stronger the mutant, the greater chance of survival. He wondered how the X-Men were doing at the Institute. What had the Professor, Logan, and Storm found in Austria? He absolutely hated not knowing. It was worse than being the spectator of an engaging ball game--he always felt the urge to leap in and participate. But the current situation was more critical than an innocent game--his friends were getting hurt. And he was stuck on the sidelines.

If he had counted correctly, then the only students remaining were him, Jamie, Roberto, Jubilee, Rogue, Kurt, and Jean. He forgot about the Acolyte house guest, but he wasn't one of the students anyway. Ray had received word just hours ago that Kitty had been taken, a lamentable turn of events. The X-Men ranks were dwindling day by day, and they weren't even together to work as a team. Each was separated by home and family; each alone to contemplate the horrible problem.

Ray felt electricity crackling in his hands again. He was extremely nervous these days--and who could blame him? Not only had the majority of his friends fallen victim to this mutant predator, he could be next. Any day, any minute, any second... He was not looking forward to knowing what made all the victims scream. A shiver tingled his spine. There was so much nervous energy bottled up inside him that his powers were becoming harder and harder to keep in check. He was aggravatingly restless and unable to sleep. The clock read two-sixteen.

A tap sounded at the window. Ray ignored it, assuming the presence of an annoying night critter. Suddenly there was a high-energy shriek and a burst of bright light. An angry pounding followed.

Ray spun around in his armchair, anticipation causing his pulse to quicken. In the span of three seconds he had shoved the patio door open and wrapped Jubilee in a crushing hug. "Man!" he exclaimed, as loud as he dared without alerting his slumbering parents. "I haven't seen you guys in ages!" He released Jubilee and grabbed Roberto's fist in a firm shake. Despite the two being constantly at odds, they were still good friends beneath the rivalry. "What are you doing here?"

Jubilee walked into the kitchen, taking in the environment of the Crisp household. "Everything's so screwed up, Ray," she said in a tight voice. She pulled her yellow jacket tighter around her petite form. "I couldn't sleep so I called the Institute a few hours ago and nobody picked up. Then Roberto called and said Kitty was attacked and uh...well we thought of you and Jamie..."

Roberto spoke when Jubilee lost her words. He put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "We're going back to the mansion. This was the only time we could sneak out. You coming?"

Ray was still trying to get over the initial surprise of seeing them there. None of the X-Men had really visited each other's homes. Having his fellow team mates in his kitchen was completely out of context. When Roberto's words finally registered, he blinked and scowled. "What? Hold on, is Jamie here too?" He peered behind the two visitors, seeing nothing on his family's wooden deck.

"No, he's at home," Roberto told him. "He's too young to bring along anyway."

"You guys think something's wrong at the Institute?" Ray asked. Besides the obvious, he added to himself. A knot formed in his stomach as he waited for an answer.

Jubilee bit her lip and said simply, "They didn't pick up the phone." They could extrapolate the possibilities.

Ray nodded determinedly. "Right, just let me get dressed." He ran upstairs and changed out of his flannel pants and T-shirt. Moments later he snuck out of the house via the patio door. He followed Jubilee and Roberto to a sleek black Lexus convertible.

Noticing the questioning look, Roberto explained, "You know how my family is."

_Spoiled rich brat,_ Ray thought, before going on to admire the car. He settled in the backseat while Jubilee took the passenger side.

Roberto geared the car and they shot down the street at a startling speed.

"Careful man!" Ray shouted. "I live in this neighborhood!"

Roberto smirked and swerved around a corner at forty miles per hour. Jubilee seemed unperplexed by the speed but Ray nervously strapped on his seatbelt. He hoped they didn't die before they got to the Institute.

* * *

Being under the employ of a Count was an honor. It also held many privileges and perks. The working conditions were hardly ever unpleasant, always within luxurious environments suitable for royalty. But unless there was a prominence of assasination attempts or terrorist activities, being under the employ of a Count produced heavy tedium.

Van Amburg muttered bitterly to himself, making his way down to the prisoners' quarters. Belkin walked beside him, hands tightly clutching a plasma gun. When they had first enlisted under the Count's service, there had been nothing in the job description about catering to a trio of captives. An assortment of bland foods littered a tray loosely carried in Van Amburg's hands. When he reached the bulky wooden door he kicked it twice. "Your meal," he barked.

An equally annoyed grunt replied, "Send it in, bub."

Belkin moved at Van Amburg's nod. He unlocked the door and held his weapon ready. Though the mutants were bound by power-negating collars, he was still wary about the feral one. There was a ferocity in those dark eyes that made Belkin nervous. As he opened the door, Van Amburg entered first, mouth sneering and face scornful.

Belkin did not fail to notice the darkness of the room. He held his weapon tightly, seeing his own shadow illuminated by the hall light. He realized too late that the prisoners could see them, but they could not see the prisoners.

"Vhere are you, freaks?" Van Amburg snapped. So deep in resentment and vexation, he didn't realize the austerity of the situation.

Before Belkin could warn him, a loud snarl erupted from the shadows. Van Amburg flew backwards and the food tray toppled as messy stains upon the floor. He collided into Belkin, who lost the plasma gun as they both sprawled off their feet.

Growling angrily, the feral man leapt towards them in attack. Van Amburg reached for his gun and fired, missing the agile mutant. He cried out angrily as Logan kicked the weapon out of his hands and socked him across the face.

Belkin's head was spinning. He had never dealt with mutants before, but if any of them were like what he'd heard of Countess Velkonnen, he never wanted to cross one. He groped desperately for his plasma gun, cursing himself and Van Amburg for not being more cautious. His hands found the weapon but never had the opportunity to lift it. A booted heel crushed his fingers before striking him across the face.

"I do not enjoy confined areas," the white-haired woman said.

Van Amburg was not a soft man. He had been chosen as a member of the Count's guard for a reason. Dodging Logan's next swipe, he struck the man across the face and threw him against the wall. He pulled a knife from his boot and swung to slash when a triplet set of adamantium claws sliced his blade into pieces. He gawked at Logan, saw the mutant's bleeding fists where the claws protruded. Anticipating the next swipe, Van Amburg leapt aside to see Belkin struggling in the clutches of an African woman. The man's irrational fear of mutants was impairing his abilities. Growling in disdain, Van Amburg reached for the fallen plasma gun, only to be tackled aside by the clawed man. He rolled painfully away, colliding into Belkin and Ororo.

Logan dove for the plasma gun and raised it to fire. Van Amburg quickly shoved Belkin out of the way and snatched Ororo, jerking her in front of him. The plasma ray struck the woman and she cried out in pain.

Van Amburg laughed gutturally, tossing Ororo aside like a rag doll. "You missed, fool."

"No, I didn't," Logan smirked.

The smile disappeared from Van Amburg's face as the painful heat of electrocution traveled through his veins. He cried out in pain and glared at the pair of all-white eyes glowing in luminescent fury. The power-negating collar was no longer around the woman's throat, but clutched as a useless, fried band in her fist.

She spoke in calm anger, "Wolverine does not miss. Unfortunately for you." With a wave of her hand, the placid air around them swept at Van Amburg as a gust. He flew against the wall and crumpled into an unconscious heap.

"Well done, Logan, Ororo," the Professor said. He emerged from the far corner of the chamber, a pleased expression on his face. "I had initial doubts about this plan but..." His gaze landed curiously on the remaining guard.

Belkin's eyes widened with daunting fear. He scurried towards the door but Logan grabbed him easily and pinned him to the floor. "Not so fast, bub. You've got the honor of being tour guide."

* * *

"You promised to love me," Patricia said. Her voice held the barest semblance of her British heritage. She had not seen home in many decades, having abandoned what she considered a pitiful existence. Despite her age, she was still as beautiful as the day he met her. "What will you do now that you know what I am, beloved? What will you do now that you know I am a murderer?"

Armand stared at her wordlessly. Horror, shock, and despair ran through his mind. He shook his head, raising a hand to massage his face. He grabbed the back of a chair to keep balanced, objects in the spacious dining hall beginning to blur together.

"Haven't we been happy?" she continued to challenge him. The black lace of her gown ruffled as she stepped towards him. "All these years we've been together--every day more blissful than the next. You didn't have to know. You should have just let things be." Her icy blue eyes fell sadly to the floor.

Murderer--Wraith--vampire... The villain behind the killings, the bane of Europe's investigative forces, his wife. How could he not have known it? All these years she had preyed upon the people of his home continent and he had been blind, lost in the happiness only she could provide. She had drained many, ruined countless lives, and yet she was still the same Patricia Farrat he found all those years ago; she was still the intelligent, beautiful woman he had discovered among Oxford scholars.

"Have you nothing to say, Armand?" she demanded, eyes bright and piercing, timeless. "Or will you have this ridiculous telepath speak for you?" She glared daggers at Charles Xavier, her husband's old friend from years forgotten.

The man sat calmly in his wheelchair, hands clasped together before him. "Patricia, please, I am only asking to help you. We may be able to find a way around your mutation so you do not have to...take lives."

"You cannot help me," Patricia spat. "Nobody can help me--this is the only way I may survive!" She grabbed the sides of her head in frustration, clutching the thick curls that remained despite her late years. Though streaked with grey, they were were still as luminous and silky as in her youth. "No one understands what this life is like! Do you think I would choose this willingly? This is the only way and you do not see it, Charles Xavier, you and your pathetic ideals..." She glared menacingly at him, approaching with heavy steps. "You and your self-righteous morals..."

"Patricia," Armand called, afraid for what she might do.

She ignored him and reached for Xavier. Her absorbent hands did not touch him. Without warning she shrieked in pain and clawed at her head. Stumbling backwards she writhed and twirled, knocking chairs aside and rattling the contents of the dining table. Bowls shook and wine spilled. The many decorative candles trembled precariously.

"What are you doing to her?" Armand yelled. "Charles!"

Xavier gasped and broke the psychic link. "She has powerful mental barriers for a non-telepath," he said, massaging his head. "But there must be a way to get through to her..."

Armand turned to wife, who had collapsed onto the dining table. He was afraid she would hurt herself with the many sharp utencils. Instead, she grabbed a wine bottle and hurled it at Xavier. Her aim was poor and the bottle shattered upon the floor, crimson liquid spreading across the polished stone.

"No, Patricia," Xavier said calmly, and fell into deep concentration again.

Her blue eyes disappeared behind clenched lids, her lips twisting into a pained sneer. _"No!"_ she screamed. "Get out of my head! Get out of my head!" She thrashed about uncontrollably, knocking plates and bowls off the table, spilling more wine and other substances. "Leave me alone!" she shrieked in hysterical panic. "You have no business here! Get out, get out--" Her words erupted into bone-chilling screams, her limbs flailing in all directions.

"Patricia!" Armand reached out for her too late.

The candles fell, tiny flames igniting into raging infernos from contact with flammable wine. The fire spread quickly and Xavier lost his concentration. He had not been able to penetrate the deep fathoms of Patricia's mind. His venture had only managed to tap into her angry hate.

Armand lunged forward for his wife, but stopped as flames blocked his path. The searing heat singed the ends of his hair, scorched parts of his skin. He yelled out in pain and stared helplessly at Patricia. She was no longer screaming from a psychic assault; flames traveled up her long gown, licking hungrily at her dry form. She staggered away from the main body of fire, igniting everything she touched.

"Armand!" Xavier called urgently. "The fire is spreading too quickly!"

Guards stumbled into the dining hall and were greeted with a horrific scene. With an ear-wracking scream the Countess hurled her blazing self at Charles Xavier, but one of the guards quickly pulled him away. "The Count!" he yelled, wheeling the guest to safety.

Armand fought against the hands that gripped him. "No! I must save Patricia--ve must help her--" He twisted and writhed, desperate to aid his wife. "Unhand me! Fools!" His efforts were futile as they dragged him away and the room became engulfed with flames. He tried to catch a glimpse of her, tried to find any remainder of her, but all that he saw was the fire that consumed everything in its path...

_Ten years ago,_ the Count thought, staring into his extravagant fireplace. _Has it veally been that long, Patricia? Have I lived so many years in solitude?_ It seemed just yesterday that she died. He could remember every detail of that fateful night, tortured himself by contemplating alternate scenarios. If only he hadn't invited Charles to dinner, if only Patricia had gone to visit her brother like planned, if only.... Even then, would it have made a difference? Would he have preferred to live in ignorance while she continued absorbing and killing?

Her death was partially his fault and he did not take the blame lightly. He couldn't even look at their young daughter without being reminded of the harrowing events. So he came to a decision. Little Annabel could not be allowed to grow up under her mother's shadow. Nearly everyone knew of Patricia Velkonnen's killing ways; nearly everyone knew the story of Wraith. Even as a count Armand could not shield Annabel effectively. It was very fortunate that Patricia's brother decided to attend her funeral. Armand had found a solution.

_She is safe in America,_ he told himself every day. _She was too young to understand. She is safe and happy._

Every once in a long while he would reach for the phone to call her, wishing to speak to her and hear her voice. But fear and guilt stayed his hand. Years passed and he knew nothing about his daughter. He had severed all contact and decided it was best that way. The less she knew about him and her mother, the better off she would be. She could have a chance at a normal life.

Theodore assured him Annabel was doing fine. She was a normal girl living a comfortable life with the plethora of funds the Count provided. Everything was as good as could be.

And yet it wasn't. Theodore had lied because something was preying on mutants in the States--and nobody could have powers so similar to Patricia's but Annabel. The Count wondered, feared how his daughter had inherited her mother's mutant genes. But her powers were of a different nature than Patricia's. This was something he had not anticipated. Never had it occurred to him that Annabel might be affected by her shadowed mother, even while she was an ocean away... The idea was very troubling and there was nothing he could do, nothing but keep her safe. Because she was his daughter. Because he loved her. Because he owed Patricia.

He wondered what else Theodore was keeping from him.

The Count was so immersed in brooding that he did not notice the room drop in temperature a few degrees. The blazing fire flickered near being extinguished as a chilling gust blew past. Turning around in his chair, tingles of vexation slithered through him at seeing his three prisoners. "How did you get free?" he demanded. His fury grew as the one called Logan dumped three of his guards onto the floor.

"You need to be a little more selective about who you employ," Ororo Munroe said. Her deep blue eyes stared at him levelly. "Your men can no longer protect you."

The Count stood, glaring at them furiously, "Don't think you frighten me, veather vitch." He turned his gaze on Xavier, "Iz this how you approach an old friend, Charles? Vith attacks and meager threats?"

"Our friendship became strained the moment you threw us in a dungeon, Armand," Xavier said calmly. "However, I am not keen on holding grudges. I believe in second chances. I know you are plagued, but you may redeem yourself by saving anyone else from death. It is selfish of you to protect your daughter at the cost of others."

The Count shook his head and rubbed his eyes. "No, Charles, you do not understand vhat it iz like...vhat I've had to cope vith..."

"But I do," Xavier said gently. "I have a child myself, a son--one that is very troubled. I wished to aid him but could not, and now he has gone off to whatever fate awaits him... Trust me, Armand, I understand."

"Vould you kill him for the sake of others, Charles?" the Count demanded. He pointed vehemently at Ororo and Logan. "Vould you sacrifice your precious X-Men for ze good of meaningless strangers?"

Xavier stared at him steadily but had no words.

The Count lowered his eyes solemnly, "Do you zee how it iz, now, Charles...Do you zee... Ze right thing to do may cause you ze most grief."

Logan growled deep in his throat, his claws extending with a gleam of adamantium. "Listen here, bub, we ain't got time for your personal issues. You've kept us locked up for who knows how long and your kid's still pickin' off mutants. Now tell us where she is."

"I von't let you hurt Annabel!" the Count bellowed. "She's all I have left!" He reached for his armchair and flicked a hidden button. The wall behind him folded open.

Logan leapt forward to intercept him but crashed against stone as the wall closed again. The Count had escaped. "Tricky punk," Logan spat.

Ororo frowned severely. "Charles?" she asked expectantly, but the Professor was in deep concentration. Ororo exchanged worried looks with Logan. "Charles," she called again.

Xavier finally opened his eyes. "We've been away too long," he said urgently. "The X-Men are in grave danger."

As Ororo grabbed the rungs of the wheelchair Logan asked, "The students--how many've been attacked?"

Xavier shook his head in confusion, "They are so far away...it is difficult for me to form a connection. All I could discern was much turmoil and fear. We must return immediately before the situation worsens."

As they rushed to leave the estate, the Count made plans of his own. Maneuvering through the hidden corridors of his home, he entered through a trap door into one of his private studies. He grabbed the phone and dialed long-distance to New York. Nobody answered even after twenty rings. Armand cursed under his breath--where was that blasted Theodore? He was beginning to question the reliability of the man. Patricia's brother had seemed trustworthy in the beginning, had truly lamented the passing of his sister. But he had also lied about Annabel's wellness and Armand feared for other perjuries.

There was only one thing left to do. He approached the wall, pressing the security control room's call button. Immediately someone responded, "Vhat do you require of us, sir?"

"Prepare a jet," the Count commanded. "Ve are flying to America."


	23. Capture

**Aaaahhhh!!!!** I can't believe it! Do you guys KNOW what happened to me?? Of course you don't! Because I haven't been able to tell you! I could give the long version, emphasize my distress, worry, and anxiety with many descriptive adjectives—but then I just want to get this chapter to you guys before Fate decides to screw me over again. So here's the short version:

1 – My laptop crashed, which had several chapters of this fic already typed and waiting to be edited.

2 – Left it at CompUSA to get it fixed. Been a week.

3 – Got it back, but wasn't done being fixed and poor tech assistant doesn't know what he's doing, got yelled at by my dad more than once.

4 - Snuck my fic files out of the laptop harddrive and onto a floppy disk before taking the laptop back to CompUSA

**So THAT'S why I haven't updated in so long!** **You guys just—oh my God—you just DON'T KNOW** about the grief I was going through during all of this. I was about to snap bc I have spent literally hours typing these things, making them sound right and then that damn piece of crap crashes...BUT IT'S OKAY NOW! I tried to calm myself by saying, "It's not important. It's just a stupid fanfic that I'll probably forget about in a few months." But then I realized I'm doing this for you guys, too, and I just really wanted my files back. Couldn't disappoint so many!!

**Review replies will have to wait. **I'm sure you guys want the chapter more than them anyway. ;-)

* * *

At first she could only think about the running. Her mind concentrated on the placement of her feet--light on slick surfaces of the tunnels, adroit around pot holes and crevices, evasive of certain miscellaneous debris floating in the water. She surprised herself by her agility and sharp movements, especially after the lack of food and rest.

_All those Danger Room sessions with Logan sure did pay off,_ she thought. Thinking of Logan reminded her of the Institute, of the other X-Men, of the mutant predator, then of her current situation. She slowed to a lagging gait, realizing just then she had no idea where she was going. Her instinct had led her as far away from the Morlocks as possible, taking passage ways and turns that would eventually wind away from the general area. She stored a mental map of her progress in her mind, while it was still fresh. It hadn't occurred to her that she didn't know her way around Manhattan's sewer system. In all the rush and urgency, the thought of maneuvering about the tunnels hadn't even struck for an instant.

_Maybe my head's missing more than the excess psyches,_ she thought bitterly.

The splashing of many feet through sewage reached her ears. Cursing under her breath, Rogue sped into a run. She thought for a moment that she might be able to lose them. Splashing out into a shallow pool of water, she looked around at the three circular tunnels before her. She had entered a square chamber bearing four large drainage pipes. Fear of the unknown clawed at her gut. It was unwise to linger for extended periods of time in such equivocal environments.

_Are there really alligators down here?_ She glanced doubtfully at the deeper areas of water and quickly chose a tunnel.

As she pulled herself up through the grimy mouth, a shout echoed throughout the chamber. Seconds later bright rays of stun beams danced about, striking the dull walls and ricocheting haphazardly. Rogue quickly scrambled into the tunnel, but not before something struck her calf. She cried out and splashed into draining water. Her leg felt numb and useless. Ignoring the sour ache, she pulled herself onto her feet and leaning against the wall, limped away.

"Which way'd she go?"

"The middle one--I think I hit her."

"Then why isn't she..."

Their exchanges faded as Rogue hurried away. The feeling returned to her leg after a few minutes, though an irritating soreness pervaded. Clenching her teeth in indignation, she made a mental note to personally pummel Theodore Farrat if she met him.

_Now what?_ Her eyes desperately scanned the area--nothing but dripping water and shadowed tunnels. She knew it was ridiculous to fear the dark; she lived in a world saturated with mutant super villains and evilly diabolical plans of conquest. Twiddling her fingers nervously, she spotted a metal ladder clinging to the sewer wall. It led up to a manhole, which invariably reached the surface.

_Yes._ Gritting her teeth from soreness, she scaled the ladder just as Farrat's men came upon her location.

Flashlight beams cut through the darkness, flashing across her peripheral vision.

With a strained effort she tried to push the manhole lid free, but it was stuck. Desperation filled her nerves. Her mind became more boggled with the shadowed figures running towards her, the poorly aimed rays of stun guns attempting to thrash her. One of the beams sliced at the manhole lid and freed it from its grimy seal. Rogue pushed the cover aside and quickly scurried up.

The breath of air was, to say the least, refreshing. Cars were no where in sight as she climbed onto the dark Manhattan street. The road was damp from slight drizzle.

Farrat's men were persistent. A couple began climbing the ladder. Rogue felt a powerful urge to inflict violence. She grabbed the heavy manhole covering and with a forceful grunt, swung it against the first man's head. Gravity became a great enemy as he collapsed, taking down a few of his team mates.

Smirking with satisfaction, Rogue dropped the lid back into place and turned to run. She collided into a hard body and reflexively swung her arm back for a punch.

"Whoa, chere, don' wan' mess up dis handsome face, non?"

Startled beyond words, Rogue could do nothing but throw her arms around him. When she pulled away she asked breathlessly, "How did you find me?"

"Figured you'd be smart an' head for de surface. De spike-boy an' I split up t'look fo'you," Remy told her. "Didn't t'ink you'd take dis long though..." He tapped his wrist where an imaginary watch existed.

Rogue rolled her eyes and slapped him on the shoulder, "Ah could've been seriously hurt and you're standin' there cracking lame jokes?"

Genuine concern filled his eyes. "But you okay, right, chere?" He looked her over, noticing the torn and soiled condition of her clothing. He shrugged off his trench coat and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"Ah'm fine," she assured him. "We just need to--"

The sewer covering suddenly burst free with a cloud of smoke. Through the haze Remy saw Farrat's men climb out, one after another. He immediately grabbed onto Rogue, pushing her forward to run away. Extending his bo-staff in anticipation, he felt something cold and airy whisk past him. Surprised, he spun around, eyes searching for the familiar figure. Rather than seeing her though, he heard her panicked shrieks in his head.

_He's taking me away! You have to stop him!_

Her terror was contagious, causing his nerves to tighten and his chest to constrict.

_I can't leave again! He can't keep moving me around--you have to stop him!_

Rogue was wrestling with a man trying to seize her when she noticed Remy gripping his head in pain. "Remy--what's wrong?" In her distraction the man got the upper hand, wrapping an arm around her throat in vice-like grip. She gagged for air.

"Annabel, now ain't de time," Remy wheezed, clenching his eyes shut. Her continuous shrieks echoed off the walls of his mind, wreaking sharp stings and painful throbs. He clawed at his skull, trying to tear her presence out of him.

_Please, Remy!_ she screamed hysterically. Her own panic clouded her judgment, not letting her realize how much she was impairing him. _I want to stay here with you! You're the only one who cares, Remy. Help me, please!_

"I can't if y'keep doin' dis t'me!" he bellowed. He felt something strike him in the side and doubled over in response.

"What's with this mutie?" a cruel voice sneered. "He possessed or something?"

The tail end of a gun struck Remy between the shoulder blades. He fell flat on the ground, still clutching his head. No other pain compared to the one in his mind. He barely felt the physical assaults; Annabel's screaming drowned out all other perceptions.

_Get up, Remy! Stop him! Get up!! Oh, God--Oh, God!_

"Whatever man, we got what we came for. Let's go."

"Can't leave dirty muties lying around--being bad citizens. Better if we finish off this trash--"

Remy heard the cackle of extracting bones and then screams of pain. _Y'don' know what real hurtin' is, homme,_ he managed to think. Slowly the anguish in his head began to subside. Annabel was calming.

_I can't...you have to help me,_ she said in a strained voice. _I need...I need to feed...Someone, I need to find someone..._

As suddenly as she came she was gone. Groaning from the ordeal, Remy lifted himself off the ground, continuing to massage his head. He looked around in time to see two of Farrat's men scurry away, one with bone spikes skewering his arm. Rogue was nowhere to be seen. Remy acted without hesitance; he ran after the retreating men, catching up to them at their car. Grabbing one by the collar, he charged the jacket enough to cause the eruption of tiny flames.

The man staggered about in a panic, desperately trying to get the jacket off.

Remy slammed the other goon against the side of the vehicle. "Where'd dey take her?" he shouted in his face.

"Gambit," Spyke called, but was ignored.

"I ain't telling you anything, filthy mute--aaargh!" He screamed in pain as Remy pulled one of the bone spikes out of his arm. "You disgusting mother f--"

"Listen, homme," Remy seethed, "make dis easier on y'self an' save us both some time, hein?"

A few dark vehicles squealed down the street and Remy caught a glimpse of a white-striped head through a window. He slammed his captive against the car again, "Where are dey headed?"

Farrat's man only laughed and sneered. "You think you scare me? I've killed bigger mutes than you and--"

Remy punched him across the face and tossed him in a heap to the ground. It was a lost cause. He turned towards the other one but saw a burnt jacket abandoned on the asphalt. Eyes flashing with urgency, he felt around the unconscious man until he found the car keys. As he opened the driver's side door, a new sequence of cries assaulted his ears.

Annabel wasted no time with terrorizing her victim. She drained Spyke quickly and efficiently. A few of the Morlocks who had come to the surface stared in awed horror. Callisto knelt by his head and lifted it onto her lap. "Evan?"

_What a very mature boy,_ Annabel mused. _He's so young but full of very deep thoughts._

Remy felt burning anger surge within him. She had disabled him from fighting, from helping Rogue, and after an entire episode of pained screaming, she was back to whimsical confabulation. "What's wrong wit' you?" he yelled at her. "Are y'bipolar or somet'ing? Do y'realize what you've just done?" He sensed the shocked looks of Callisto and the Morlocks but didn't care.

Hurt flashed across Annabel's ghostly features, _I'm sorry...absorbing people always makes me feel better. I thought you understood..._

Remy felt her sorrow and regret. He released a resigned sigh and looked in the direction in which the vehicles had disappeared. Despite all their efforts, Farrat had abducted Rogue. Possible scenarios flashed through Remy's mind and his teeth gritted in fury. He would not allow anything to happen to her. He couldn't.

_I'm sorry, Remy,_ Annabel said. _I didn't realize.... But you have to help me. You have to stop Theo!_

Remy turned on her again, "Why should I? I tried t'help you but y'didn't even know who I was when y'saw me!"

Annabel's wispy features frowned, _That wasn't me and you know it. _

Remy growled in frustration, more confused than ever. Everything he knew was self-contradicting. The only surefire thing was the urgency of saving Rogue. "I don' have time fo'dis." He got into the car and slammed the door shut.

"Gambit!" Callisto barked. "What about Evan?"

"I'm handlin' it!" he shouted back curtly, and revved the engine. His foot crushed the accelerator to the floor as the tires screamed in response. He did not heed the speedometer, daring a police officer to try and pull him over.

As the car sped down the street, he swerved it in the direction Farrat's men had gone. They were no longer in view. Remy extrapolated where they might have headed.

_I see you're upset._

"Y'don' know de half of it," Remy gritted.

_And you don't know where you're going.... Theo is at Newark Airport, at one of the private jet runways. Father always was generous with the money..._.

Without missing a beat, Remy jerked the car into the appropriate direction. He merged onto the nearly-empty freeway and accelerated to an even more unlawful speed. Briefly, he wondered how long the car could take such exertion.

"Rogue go'n' be dere, cherie?"

_They will take her to him. _

"What's Farrat want wit' her?"

_He doesn't._

"Say what?"

_Someone else does...don't know who, but frightening--like a nightmare, like me. He can't be human the way he is..._

Remy began to grow worried. "Mutant?"

_Can't say for sure._

Remy didn't speak anymore for the rest of the drive. His demon eyes were fixed on the road, hard and ablaze. Theodore Farrat wasn't the one that wanted Rogue--some mutated stranger was--one who probably had more sinister plans. Merde, things were just getting worse by the minute.

He pushed the car to its top speed, hoping against hope that he would get to Newark in time.

---------------------------

At first Rogue was very nervous. She pulled Remy's trench coat tighter around herself, ever aware of being the sole female in a car loaded with ornery men. And with the absence of her powers, she felt even more vulnerable. As the ride continued, her anxiety slowly morphed into simmering anger. They were kidnapping her. They were taking her somewhere she most definitely would not want to be. What was worse, the whole situation made her feel like an utter fool. _Should've thought of a different plan,_ she chided herself. _Logan taught me better than this._

The vehicle came to a stop. Rogue jerked forward from the sudden halt as Farrat's men began unloading. When one of them grabbed her arm, Rogue glared daggers at him. She stumbled out of the car and onto the smooth gravel of a small runway. The resonant whoosh and whine of an aircraft sounded as it passed by overhead. Rogue followed its trajectory to an expanse of traffic towers, observation buildings, and glittering runways. Dread bit at her insides.

Farrat's men dragged her toward a small jet revving up for take off. Her breath quickened in silent fury. Without warning she twisted violently out of their hold, kicking a man in the groin. He yowled in pain, ordering the others to seize her. Rogue managed to swing in a good punch before a fist collided into her jaw. Top and bottom rows of teeth rammed together painfully; she tasted blood. Staggering dizzily, she felt rough hands detain her again.

As she was forced up the boarding steps, she saw several men loading suitcases and crates into the jet's storage compartments. Farrat was leaving for an extended period of time. Then something else caught her eye. Handling with the utmost of care, four men lifted a stretcher out of a van. One carried an IV bag while another straightened the blankets covering the feminine figure.

Rogue's eyes widened in recognition. "Annabel," she gasped and struggled as Farrat's men shoved her into the jet. "What did ya do to her? Why's she on a stretcher?"

"Shut your hole," a blond one snapped irritably. "She's always been like that." He tried forcing her into a seat but received a vicious backhand. Temper at its apex, the man reached for his gun but another stopped him. "Man, Deaver, there's only so much I'll take from this little bitch."

Deaver narrowed his eyes dourly, "The boss needs her unspoiled, fool. You think a bullet in the head's going to meet the criterion?"

"I was planning on aiming lower." The blond man sneered at Rogue. She replied with an equally menacing glare. "Got flair, though, huh? See how long that lasts after Farrat's through with you."

Deaver pushed him aside and swiftly handcuffed Rogue to her seat. "Cooperate and make this easier for everybody, mutant," he said. "And wipe that scowl off your face or it might get stuck that way."

"Go ta hell," she spat.

Deaver stepped back with an amused frown on his rectangular face. "Don't mean any harm."

Rogue scoffed, "That's hard to believe, considering how you're _kidnapping me_."

"We do what we must to get paid," Deaver said nonchalantly. He turned to the blond man and said, "Tell Perry and Napes to board the jet. Get the rest back to the base to prepare for the other task."

Rogue's ears perked up. "What other task?" she demanded.

Deaver ignored her. "And don't forget to take a team back down to those sewers," he said.

"Should we exterminate the mutants?"

Rogue stiffened with dread. "You can't do that," she protested, struggling against the cuffs. "They didn't do anything to ya. You can't--"

"No," Deaver said, "only retrieve the men we left behind. If they refuse to hand them over, do whatever's necessary."

The blond man nodded in understanding of his orders. After shooting another threatening glare in Rogue's direction, he stepped off the jet. Deaver left for the cockpit without any other acknowledgment of Rogue. She wasn't alone for long. Minutes later, a narrow stretcher was carried into the jet and sturdily fastened in the back.

Rogue had a view of the achingly pretty face, the locks of rich black hair. Annabel appeared to be sleeping, but a discomforted expression on her face aroused suspicion. Her eyebrow twitched slightly. It seemed as though she was trying to wake up but couldn't quite manage it; something was keeping her asleep.

_Theodore Farrat,_ Rogue thought immediately. _Remy said he was doing something to her. He's keeping her like that--in a coma. And that's why she has to project herself to feed..._ She couldn't guess why Farrat would keep his niece in such a condition; he was robbing her of a life.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the jet's engines began to hum with ferocious activity. The seats rattled slightly with the initial mechanical effort. Rogue realized that if the jet took to the air her escape options would become incredibly limited. She struggled with the handcuffs, painfully trying to slide her hands free. When she had succeeded more in fraying her skin cells, she stopped and looked around for something to pick the lock with.

_Where's a thief when ya need one? s_he thought wryly.

Only two of Farrat's men remained; one kept watch over the comatose Annabel while the other sat near the cockpit, a baseball cap pulled over his eyes. As Rogue looked around helplessly for a medium of escape, the latch swung open and a middle-aged man entered the jet. He closed the door behind him, locking the handle in place. "We're ready for take off," he called to the cockpit.

Deaver's voice replied, "Yes, sir."

Theodore Farrat seated himself and pulled out a newspaper to read. It seemed only then that he noticed the girl handcuffed to her seat. "You must be the infamous Rogue," he said, setting the newspaper down.

"And you must be the bastard Farrat."

He narrowed his eyes, "I'll have you know, your abduction was by no wish of mine. I have no use for mutants."

"Then why the hell are ya doing this?" Rogue demanded.

Farrat sighed and shrugged underneath his double-breasted suit. "There are other interests to consider," he said simply. "Curious though, I do not understand why you are so desirable. You don't seem to have any powerful abilities."

Rogue frowned, "Like you don't know."

"I can assure you that I do not."

"It's because of Annabel," Rogue said carefully, referring to her power absence. She chose her words cautiously, hoping to get a rise out of him so he would let slip some useful information. "Ya know, your _niece_, because Patricia Velkonnen's your _sister_." She placed heavy syllabic emphasis on the references to family, and waited for his response.

The man's cold blue eyes flickered with an indefinable emotion. "Are you a telepath?" he asked suspiciously.

Rogue didn't answer his question. She decided letting him squirm would be more satisfactory. "Annabel's draining the life out of innocent people because she's like _that_," she went on, nodding her head towards the stretcher. "You're purposely keeping her asleep and killing people." She tried to hide her growing anxiety; her body picked up the tremors of the jet as it began its course down the runway. They would be off the ground in a matter of minutes.

Farrat narrowed his eyes and laughed disdainfully. "Annabel would still be killing people in consciousness, and with greater vigor like her mother," he said in disgust, as though the words tasted vile coming out of his mouth. "I am doing this world a favor by keeping her in that coma." His eyes shadowed over as though he did not truly believe his words, as though he was reminiscing painful memories. "Her sacrifice is for the betterment of everyone else."

"Ya have no right," Rogue frowned.

Farrat looked at her with an amused expression. "By the laws of your grand United States of America, I am her legal guardian, and so have every right. But you should not trouble yourself by worrying over others, lass. Annabel is safe and secure, but your fate remains questionable."

Rogue saw the flash of uncertainty in his eyes, the glimmer of an anxious doubt. "Who are ya workin' for?" she hissed, slight panic tightening her chest. If this man, who had committed so many wrongs, feared for her, then how horrible was her fate?

"I am employed by no one," Farrat said. Any emotion or uncertainty he previously showed was wiped away by years of practiced indifference.

There was a sudden jerk as though the jet's runners had bumped something. The next moment the cockpit door opened and Deaver stuck his head out. "Sir," he called, "there's something I think you should see."

Farrat stood from his seat, neatly folding the newspaper and tucking it under his arm. He turned to Rogue and said, "My debt will be repaid and you, my young vigorous mutant, will finally meet your greatest admirer."

Rogue stared at his back as he walked away. Her gaze remained fixed on his path even when he disappeared into the cockpit. She shut her eyes tight, forcing calm. The morbidity of his words sent shivers up her spine. If Farrat wasn't kidnapping her for his own purposes then who was he doing it for? Rogue pictured a heinously wicked villain with perverted agendas. She shook her head furiously and realized her ears were popping. The pressure was changing--the plane had already taken off. Her heart sank. She was beyond all aid now, lifting away into daunting air.

As she turned to look at Annabel she forgot her troubled thoughts.

_Her life was stolen from her,_ she thought sadly. _No wonder she's so angry. No wonder she's so hurt..._

But something was happening that Theodore Farrat had overlooked, that even the red-haired lackey keeping watch neglected to see.

Rogue settled herself into a less obvious position. She rested her back against the elliptical window and allowed her head to loll forward a bit. White bangs shrouded her eyes enough to hide her observant gaze. She saw the pink lips part an infinitesimal distance, the quiver of lidded eyes begging for sight. Farrat had been too busy planning his machinations to notice, to give his niece another dosage of whatever kept her asleep.

Rogue was sure now and hoped that no one else would discover it.

Annabel was waking up.

* * *

**Review--make me happy by showing that you care that I care.** And then check out the **Next Chapter: Aerospace**.


	24. Aerospace

Sometime during the frenzied drive, Annabel left. Remy looked around but couldn't see her ghostly form, nor feel her chaotic emotions. Frowning with uncertainty, he focused all attention on managing the vehicle. He was pushing the car to its functional limit; the engine whined uncomfortably from his demands. But he didn't care because only one thing merited his concern at the moment. Images of Rogue coming to harm flooded his mind, causing his stomach to reel with anger, contempt, and guilt. He should have been able to stop this. He shouldn't have let her run off back in the sewers. What if she was already on a plane, already flying off to a place he could not reach her?

Remy ground his teeth together as the facilities of Newark Airport came into view. He chose the unconventional method of entrance. Twisting the steering wheel to the right, he pulled the car haphazardly into the adjacent lane. Normally it would have been packed with opposing traffic, but in those pre-dawn hours, no other cars were present. His eyes flicked towards the speedometer--one hundred fifty-one miles per hour. With another twist the car leapt from the road. At such a speed, the vehicle screamed as it careened off the asphalt and crashed through the fence lining the runway boundaries.

Remy clamped his hands on the wheel in an iron hold as the car began to fishtail. Soon he was spinning donuts on the deserted runway. He eased off the gas pedal and fought to gain forward momentum. With a calculated jerk of the wheel, he managed to set the car straight. He accelerated once again to a dangerous speed, rocketing towards the lonely jet he had spotted not too far away. It was a small airliner, owned privately by a person of wealth--a person like Theodore Farrat. Suited men rushed away from the revving plane, boarding familiar vehicles to depart. The jet was turning around to begin its path down the runway. In a few moments it would lift off.

Remy's gaze was focused on the aircraft. He saw Farrat's men drive away but didn't bother to wonder about their next actions. The only important thing was getting onto that damn plane. He sped along the smooth gravel of several runways, catching up to the small jet as it began accelerating for flight. Possible courses of action flashed through his mind--each a risky gamble.

As he closed the distance between him and the jet, he noticed the storage compartments on its underside. It was a treacherous avenue of entrance--and if he failed the remains of his body would be terribly unpleasant to look at it. Remy pushed the thought out of his head. Gripping the steering wheel sturdily, he guided the car near the jet. The deafening scream of its thrusters assaulted his ears. His eyes became dry from the whipping wind and he struggled to keep himself oriented.

_Focus,_ he told himself. _Y've got t'save Rogue. Focus on Rogue._

The car waggled dangerously as he guided it under the jet. Craning his neck to get a better view, he eased the vehicle near one of the retractable wheels. He veered so close he could almost feel the frictional heat of its rapid gyration. Keeping his foot on the pedal, he snatched his bo-staff from his belt. He quickly shoved it horizontally through the steering wheel spokes and extended it. Both ends of the pole struck against opposite sides of the car, staking the wheel in place. Remy then rolled down the window and with his foot still on the gas pedal, eased himself halfway out.

The jet was accelerating; urgency shot through Remy's veins. In quick movements, he lifted his foot from the gas pedal and planted both haphazardly on the driver's seat. Immediately the car began to lag behind from loss of speed. Remy didn't give it a second thought--he hurled himself out of the car. For a brief, terrifying moment it seemed he wouldn't make it. Then his hands gripped metal and by reflex he pulled himself onto the leg of the plane.

Heat from the thrusters singed his hair as he climbed. Quick winds whipped at him, threatening to tear away his hold. It took all of his strength and will power to reach the jet's belly. His fingers found the storage compartment latch, tracing a circle around the lock. It blew apart in seconds and the latch swung loose. Suitcases burst out, narrowly missing Remy, and spilled their contents on the runway. The jet became temporarily unstable. One of the landing wheels ran over a few loose objects, causing the jet to lurch dangerously. But no harm was done as the legs suddenly retracted, bending up to their abodes as the plane left the ground.

Remy quickly pulled himself into the storage compartment, fighting against the escape of air from high to low pressure. In one strained swoop he pulled the latch closed again, charging the lock enough to melt it in place. He fell back against a crate, exhausted. _All dis better be worth de effort,_ he thought tiredly. It would be just his luck if he would come so far only to fail.

A red light bulb in the wall was flashing. Remy frowned at it and realized the pilots were being alerted to his presence. He cursed under his breath. _Jus' can't have it easy._

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"Is there a problem?" Farrat asked. His steely gaze flicked from Deaver to the pilot, back to Deaver. "Well?"

His henchman pointed at a blinking red light on the jet's dashboard. "The man says it's no big deal but I have my doubts."

An irritated sigh escaped from the pilot, "I'm telling you, sometimes the gauges and monitors tweak out during the incline. Give it a few minutes." He adjusted his head gear and turned his attention back to piloting.

"What was the jolt I felt earlier?" Farrat asked.

Deaver crossed his arms, "Ask him."

The pilot rolled his eyes. "Once again, little mishaps occur. If there was a real problem we never would have left the ground." He began flipping switches and turning dials as they ascended higher in the air. "I suggest you two strap down."

Deaver took the co-pilot seat while Theodore retreated back to the passenger cabin. Moments later the small jet met minor turbulence, rattling uncomfortably. Deaver pulled his harnesses tighter, relaxing only when they were soaring smoothly through the clouds. He looked at the dash, at the confusing jumble of meters and gauges. The red light was still blinking.

"I know," the pilot said, before he could voice a word. "It's the storage compartment. Maybe the latch wasn't shut properly."

Deaver frowned, "Is it something to worry about?"

The pilot checked a few gauges and said, "No. Everything looks stable, but if the latch is loose then I suggest you go and tighten it."

Deaver narrowed his eyes at the pilot's demeaning tone. "I'll have one of my men take care of it," he said coolly. He opened the cockpit door. His hard gaze scanned the passenger cabin; Farrat was reading the newspaper while the mutant girl appeared to be glowering at him behind a curtain of hair; Perry sat by Farrat's niece and Napes snoozed with a baseball cap pulled over his face.

Deaver snatched the navy cap off the man's head and swatted him with it. "What'd I say about falling asleep on the job, Napes?"

After composing himself from the abrupt awakening, the brown-haired man quickly stood erect and stared straight ahead. "Sorry, sir. I always get drowsy on plane rides. Must be an effect of the aerodynamics."

"Imbecile," Deaver scowled. He tossed the hat back to him and pointed to a floor latch near the rear of the plane. "Go down to the storage compartment. Make sure the latch is secure and nobody's bummed a ride."

Napes nodded, "Can do."

Deaver watched as the youth pulled on his cap before following orders. With an exasperated sigh, he turned back towards the cockpit.

"Everything going well?" Farrat asked.

"Yes, sir. We're just taking precautions."

The gray-haired man nodded composedly. He spared a glance at his niece before looking back at the newspaper, "In a few hours this will all be dealt with and over."

"Looking forward to it, Mr. Farrat." Deaver realized all too well the truth behind his statement.

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It took longer for them to come than he'd anticipated. By the time one of Farrat's men lowered himself into the storage area, Remy was well-rested and prepared. He stood crouched behind one of the many large suitcases in poised prowess. He had noted the heavy packages, realized Farrat was planning an extended absence. No doubt he had taken Annabel with him, however and whatever she was. Her ghostly presence had not revisited; Remy wondered if she was busy draining other mutants. But if that were so, how would she be on the plane? There had to be something wrong with her physical body--and she must be occupied with it at the moment. Remy shook his head. It was so confusing to think about.

Napes swept the flashlight beam up and over suitcases and medical equipment. He didn't really understand what all the fuss was about, really. All he knew was a rich man was trying to sneak his pretty, but comatose, niece out of the country. None of it mattered to Napes anyway. This was simply a paying job--one that would give him enough money to attend the community college back in Buffalo. He had almost saved enough for four semesters. Contemplating the classes he would sign up for, Napes paid little attention to the surroundings. He came upon the latch Deaver had spoken of and found it securely in place. "Is it supposed to be melted like that?" he wondered out loud, cocking an eyebrow at the deformed lock.

"Mais, no, but beats havin' it floppin' free, hein?"

Napes didn't see the source of the voice. A dull pain erupted in his skull and he fell into another nap.

Remy stared at the unconscious youth. He scratched his head and wondered what to do next. Maybe he should have interrogated the guy first, found out what the situation was above. _Dis what I get fo' bein' rash,_ he thought with a sigh. He saw the navy baseball cap on the floor and picked it up. Fingering the canvas, he noticed Napes was almost the same build as him, though a year or two immature. Remy didn't know any other way to fight with an advantage. He bent down and set to work.

--------------------------------

The small plane had glided into the jet stream, flying at a facilitated speed. Though the aircraft seemed like the common passenger jet, it possessed a unusual speed. They were getting farther and farther away from land. Rogue stared out the window at the passing clouds. She had never been on a real airplane before, only ever having ridden in the X-jet and Velocity. Her first experience was going to leave a memorable black mark.

"Hey, you."

She turned to face the red-haired goon, eyes dark with a glare.

Perry asked curiously, "What's your mutant power?"

"None of your business," Rogue snapped.

"Bit touchy, aren't you?" Perry smirked. "Why such a bad attitude?"

Rogue rolled her eyes, "Um, how 'bout 'cause Ah'm bein' kidnapped, moron?"

Perry chuckled in amusement. He opened his mouth to retort when the floor latch flipped open. "Anything down there Napes?" he asked the emerging figure.

Napes's back was turned to them, the baseball cap pulled firmly over his brown hair. He shook his head and allowed the latch to drop closed.

Rogue frowned as she studied the young man. Something was different from when she first saw him go below. When he turned around, the shadow of the cap's rim veiled his upper face. Rogue's heart skipped a beat at seeing the refined edge of his familiar jaw. She didn't even blink as he reeled on Perry with a punch. The redhead soared over the next row of seats and fell against Annabel's stretcher. The girl shook slightly from impact. With another fluid movement, Napes's handgun was clutched in Remy's hands, aimed at the head of Theodore Farrat.

"I wouldn't if I were you," the man said calmly.

Remy hadn't planned on pulling the trigger, but after seeing the nasty bruise on Rogue's face, he was seriously considering it. "An' why not?" he challenged.

Farrat looked down and Remy followed his gaze. The newspaper ruffled aside and revealed Farrat's hand resting comfortably on his lap. A shiny pistol sat within his aged fingers, aimed directly at Rogue. "Depends on how much you're willing to gamble."

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**Whew. What work. But it was fun.** Stay tuned.

**Next Chapter:** **Homeland Security**

(Ironic title, don't you think, what with all the war-talk going on.)


	25. Homeland Security

**I am really not enjoying** all this busyness because it's keeping me away from doing the things that I really want to. So right now I'm shirking my editor duties for the school newspaper to update this story. Heh, don't even care.

**As for what's currently up**, RR and J are going back to the Institute to discover some less than pleasant things. Let's see how they fair. But first, my long-overdue review replies!

**Ishandahalf:** if I hadn't snuck my chapters out, I wouldn't have them--not one! I hate CompUSA. To think I was going to exclude that one part with Remy sneaking under the belly of the plane... **X2P3:** It sucked without my laptop but I had a family desktop to use--yet it just wasn't the same. Wanna see some new recruits? Here you go. **Sweety8587:** Like a movie--glad you think so! Whilst writing I always picture it like a movie. Calls for nice visualizations. **Flowerperson:** poor me is right, not begging for pity or anything--just truth. But the worst is over for now. If Rogue died this story would sure suck. Ha. **Loneraven:** Oh my God!! I feel your pain--I'd feel utterly horrible at having an entire novel being deleted. I can completely relate, friend. **RogueCajunOzsgrl:** Funny you sould say so, I thought it was VERY cliche when I put the switching-places-with-Napes but hell, what are you gonna do? **Kendokao:** WILL Remy come through for us? Or will he be rash? Will be make a bad choice? Stay tuned and find out. **Freak87: **Haha, man, I love your reviews. Always so funny and with much insight. Evil Knivel Remy? Must be, what with that stunt he pulled! I wonder if that was even physically possible... Oh yes, a spin-off on Napes, definitely. We'll delve into what courses he'll be taking, when he'll acquire his bachelors degree and his first job interview--oh, the suspense, the angst! **SickmindedSucker: **Her uncle is a bastard. But a poor bastard, really. **GreenFairyGirl88:** I'll never get tired of complaining about the computer troubles, but I'll stop. And you're welcome. **Enchanted light:** It's so comforting to see that some things have not changed (no sarcasm intended). **Totally Obsessed47: **thank you, thank you, okay. **Just me:** Oh, I'll hate with you! Why won't it let you load? Damn site...I'd email the chapter to you if I knew what your email address was! I hope you got into it somehow. I love your excitement, love the fervor, love you! **Tsugath:** a new reviewer, cool! But cliff hangers are so so wonderful... Hell yeah, God, if I hadn't, this story would have experienced some SEVERE delays. **Shockgoddess:** Best closing lines? Good, bc it wasn't even going to be there in the original writing. Thank god for editing, right? How cool (bc there is no better word) that I can make muscles tense up with my words! **Blackrougefillie:** That good, huh? --smiles-- You're too kind, but please, don't stop. Hell yeah Annabel's waking up. And she has her own idea on what is going to go down. **Cd lover:** Rogue and Gambit are going to have to keep their own for a bit yet--until Annabel can get her senses together. But in the meantime, worry over what R,R, and J are dealing with in this chapter. ;) **Nai-Pants:** The closing line wasn't even in the original writing--so glad I put it in. God, I hope nothing bad like that happens again either. But I'm careful this time, everything is on disks. Unless something happens to the disks...damn. **Flame31:** Always great to see a new reviewer. Huh, powerless X-Men, what a GREAT development for the storyline! Noooo... **Skyangle2004:** I completely understand with the whole deal with school and all. School sucks. Glad it's my senior year, but then I'll have four more years of ridiculously hard work at a college. Man... I'd love to try donuts too, now that I think of it.

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**I kinda thought this was a** funny title for the chapter 'cause you hear all that talk about "homeland security" with all the election hype going on. Those terrorists sure have stirred up the U.S..

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The very first thing anyone noticed was the dismembered gate. Ray noted the singed ends of wrought-iron stakes tossed helter-skelter over the pavement and exterior yard. Electricity cackled nervously in his hands. "Something bad went down," he gritted.

Despite the urgent situation, Roberto decelerated to a creeping twenty miles per hour.

Ray frowned irritably. The kid had committed nearly fifteen traffic violations on the way to the Institute, and now that they were there, he suddenly decided to be careful? "What, you slowing down?" Ray demanded.

"There's cars up front. I don't recognize them."

Jubilee grabbed the dashboard as she leaned forward, eyes narrowed in anxious concentration. "And they didn't bother to knock," she said in a tight voice. She pointed at the pieces of remaining front door.

The Lexus rolled up behind the foreign vehicles. Jubilee was the first out, hands balled in preparation of releasing bursts of firecrackling energy. Roberto and Ray followed, tensed for action, but the vehicles were empty.

"They're inside," Roberto said. "What do you think...?"

Ray's jaw tightened as he started up the front steps. Xavier's school was the one place where any mutant could be safe, the one place that offered unconditional help and understanding. He did not take lightly to the idea of somebody intruding with cruel intentions. Upon entering the foyer, he froze, an expression of bewildered shock on his face, "What the hell?"

Jubilee nudged past him to see, her dark brown eyes widening in their almond shape. "Who did this?" she hissed fearfully. "Why would they..." She grabbed Ray's arm by reflex, scanning the foyer nervously.

Black skid marks looped about the floor, ending at a motorcycle propped against the opposite wall. But it was not this that spooked them. The comatose forms of Hank, Kurt, Tabitha, and Wanda lay near the stairs. Each was tightly strapped to a gurney, ready for extraction. Roberto approached them first, kneeling beside Tabitha and brushing hair off her face. "They're okay, I think," he said. "In comas..." His words faded as foreign voices drifted into the foyer.

The three new recruits quickly dodged behind the staircase banister, hiding from view.

"...careful with these ones...delicate condition..."

"...gives a crap? Don't understand...filthy mutants anyway..."

"...because, idiot, you don't do the job right, Farrat won't pay."

They entered the foyer, five men carrying two stretchers with X-Men bound to them. They lay the gurneys beside Wanda. A chestnut-haired one picked the red glasses off one of the mutants' faces. He slid them on, grinning disdainfully, "What's some whacked-up scientist want with a bunch of muties anyway?"

"'Cause he's as messed as they are."

"Damn it, put those back and quit screwing around. Bodies don't haul themselves." The burly man reached for the stretcher handles but never grabbed them. Something with the likeness to a firecracker exploded before his fingertips, singing the tips of his nails and the surrounding flesh. He yowled in pain, "What the f--aaaagghhh!" A searing pain traveled throughout his blood veins, trembling and hot--like he was being electrocuted. He flailed about trying to escape his own skin, until he tripped over a gurney and knocked himself unconscious on the staircase banister.

The chestnut-haired one snatched his plasma gun. Before he could blast the little Asian girl he was tackled from behind by a dark-haired boy. The gun flew from his hands and clattered to the floor.

Careful about his comatose teammates, Ray shot bursts of cackling electricity at the intruders. He was met with a shower of plasma rays and quickly ducked out of aim. Jubilee hurriedly shot fireworks in his defense.

Roberto managed to swing a good punch at his adversary, knocking the man unconscious. He smirked--he didn't need his powers to beat up punks like these guys. Quickly, he snatched the plasma gun from the floor and fidgeted with the mechanisms. "Hell! How do you work this thing??" He did not notice the man approaching him with a taser. Suddenly his finger caught on a switch and a burst of angry photons bombarded his would-be attacker. With a dazed moan the goon collapsed.

Jubilee shrieked as she dove to the floor, receiving many friction burns on her hands. She shot up on all fours and furiously crawled out of the way of cannonading plasma beams. Ray came to her aid, fisted hands shooting strings of zigzagging energy. He fried one of the firearms and grinned with satisfaction as the heated metal scalded its bearer's hands. Jubilee saw her chance, sending a blast of shrieking light at the man. He was blinded senseless and thrown rearwards by the eruptive force.

Ray massaged the back of his neck. "Didn't expect that," he muttered. He began dragging one of the men towards the stairs while Roberto went to find some rope. Working together, they bound the intruders to the staircase banister.

"Have they all...been taken? All of them?" Jubilee's eyes traveled over the immobile forms--Scott, Hank, Tabitha, Kurt, Wanda, Lance... "Where are the others? Where's Amara and Jean and Rogue..."

Roberto was already moving towards the Med Bay. He led the way, bursting through the glass doors to the patient area. Roberto paused for a second, thinking he saw out of the corner of his eye a shadow dart from view. He looked around but saw nothing out of place. Several beds were empty, sheets rumpled and IV tubes hanging ineffectually. Three beds were occupied, two by official enemies.

Jubilee approached and brushed a strand of hair off the Amara's face. She glanced apprehensively at the snoozing forms of Pyro and Colossus. "Looks like a lot of stuff went down while we were gone," she said with a release of breath.

"Rogue and Jean," Ray said, looking around in bewilderment. "They wouldn't just leave..."

"Do you think they were already taken?" Roberto asked, frowning. "There might be more guys around."

Ray nodded, "Right. Jubes, keep an eye on the others. Roberto and I are going to check out the rest of the mansion."

Nobody protested. Ray took the west wing while Roberto ventured off to the east. Each crept through the corridors and rooms with a familiar step. They had the advantage; this was their home and they knew it better than any intruder. After much time of finding nothing, Ray proceeded back downstairs, scratching his head. Then he noticed the fork and knife-skewered kitchen door.

_Holy..._

He rushed into the kitchen, sneakers crunching over broken china and glass shards. A horrible fight must have broken out--either that or somebody went berserk with their mutant powers. Ray noticed the broken patio door, saw a figure lying on a tanning chair outside. _No way._ He ran to Jean's side, noticed the dried blood on her hands and her slumbering appearance. He cursed under his breath and picked her up, carrying her back to the foyer. As he lay her gently on the floor beside Scott, worry creased his brow. Who was going to be next? Where was Rogue?

Ray turned to their captives, seeing a few stir towards consciousness. He decided to question the first one that became fully awake. At the sound of footsteps he spun around.

Jubilee placidly emerged from the rec room.

"What were you doing?" Ray asked curiously. "I thought you were going to watch over Amara and the others." He waved his hand around at the X-Men still strapped to gurneys.

Jubilee blinked then said simply, "I was checking the area."

Ray sighed and massaged the back of his neck. "I found Jean on the patio," he said. "She's comatose like the others."

Jubilee had no reply, kept her eyes steady as she crossed her arms.

Ray was slightly unnerved at her neutral reaction. He assumed she was trying to remain calm. "I didn't see Rogue anywhere. Do you think anything happened to her?"

"I can't say," Jubilee stated. "There's no real way to know."

Ray frowned and wished she would show a little more concern. He looked at his comatose team mates. "Guess we should get these guys out of the stretchers. C'mon, help me lift Tabitha up." He turned around and bent at the knees, reaching down to grab one end of the stretcher. He waited for Jubilee to grab the other, but she didn't. The next thing he knew, her petite arm encircled his throat, wrapping him in a choking hold. He gagged in the struggle for air, shocked at her strength before realizing she was actually attacking him. Jubilee was trying to maim him--and she was succeeding.

"Jubes," he gasped, "what the f--" She was freakishly strong; he couldn't break her hold. He pulled at her slim arms in vain. Suddenly she released him, throwing him against the wall with shocking force. He slammed his head and crumpled to the floor in a daze. As the world swirled around him, noises and sights blended together into a confusing whirligig of sensations. When things cleared a bit he heard rushed footsteps and a feminine Asian face peered down at him in worry.

"Oh my God, Ray, are you all right? What happened?"

He glared angrily, shoving her aside. "Like you don't know!" he yelled, though it made his head hurt more. "What the hell's your problem, attacking me like that?"

Jubilee gaped at him, eyes wide, "What are you talking about?"

He pulled himself off the floor, rubbing his head. "You freaking out and trying to choke me to death!" he told her. "Why are you even denying it--I was there!"

"Because, you idiot," Jubilee shot back, her own temper flaring, "I didn't _do_ anything! I was with Amara and just coming up here to check the others when I saw you lying on the floor like a dead dog! Now tell me what the hell really happened!"

Ray stared at her, eyes blazing. Tense energy cackled in his hands. He realized then that the Jubilee who had attacked him was very different from the one he presently glared at. The girl before had been eerily unemotional, facial expression ever constant. Ray rubbed his face in confusion. "I have no idea what's going on," he muttered. "But I swear you attacked me. Either that or somebody that sounds and looks just like you."

Jubilee huffed, "That's crazy. I don't have a twin or anything. Unless Mystique--"

"Gone, remember?"

"Oh, yeah...then who was it?" Jubilee wrinkled her nose in confusion and Ray knew for a fact it was not her earlier. "God, I am getting more and more creeped out."

Frustrated, Ray massaged his sore neck and headed for the stairs, "Have to find Roberto."

------------------------------------

Eerie emptiness--it was the first thing he noticed. Roberto shivered as he walked down the dark corridor. He had never experienced the Xavier Institute under such derelict conditions. The absence of numerous students and omnipresent noise was unsettling. Roberto was almost hoping to find an intruder to pummel, just to encounter another live being. Perusing the last room, he found nothing and nobody and decided to regroup with Ray and Jubilee. Thoughts swirled worriedly around Rogue and Jean as he headed for the stairs.

"There you are."

Roberto gave a start as Ray suddenly appeared around the corner. He frowned furiously, "Man, what's your problem, popping up in front of me like that?"

"Did I scare you."

Realizing his mistake, Roberto grew more irritated. "No," he said defensively. "Just caught me off guard is all, and that's not a good idea considering our situation right now."

Ray stared at him for a moment before saying, "Did you find anything?"

"No," Roberto sighed, walking past him in the direction of the stairs. "Where's Jubes?"

"Downstairs looking after the others, but we can't join her yet."

"Why not?"

"I have an issue to settle with you."

Roberto turned around curiously to be met in the face with a vicious punch. Stars exploded in his vision and he fell against a hall table, knocking over the flower vase. Groaning painfully, he was not given time to recover as Ray grabbed him by the shirt collar and slammed him against the opposite wall.

The world became a kaleidoscope of confusion. Roberto fought for composure, favoring his bloodied lip. When his vision cleared he saw Ray lifting the hall table to bash him with it. He dove out of the way as the table shattered in his previous location. Stumbling onto his feet, he tackled Ray from behind and they both went sprawling to the floor. Both fought for the upper hand in a heated wrestling match that Roberto was intent on winning. He didn't know why Ray was suddenly attacking him, but he wasn't about to be bested by him. They had their differences in the past, but was it really enough to incite a violent brawl?

Roberto elbowed Ray in the face and finally got the upper hand. He pinned the boy down by the arms and legs, digging his knee into the nape of his neck. "Look, Ray, I don't know what your problem is," he said breathlessly, words dripping blood, "but I'll tell you right now: you have serious anger management problems."

"Like I didn't already know."

Roberto's head snapped up and his eyes widened at seeing another Ray, identical to the one below him, standing in the corridor. "What--how--aagh!" He yelled as the attacker threw him off in his distraction.

"Get back here!" Jubilee appeared at Ray's side, blasting firecrackling energy at the imposter. Her efforts were futile; the shapeshifter moved with deft agility, running down the hall and crashing through the second story window. "Oh my God, he's suicidal!" Jubilee shrieked.

They ran to the window and peered down. The shrubs below appeared disturbed, several leaves shaken to the ground. There was no other sign of the imposter.

Ray, Roberto, and Jubilee exchanged worried glances. "Who the hell was that?" Roberto sputtered, wiping blood off his lip.

"Can't be Mystique for obvious reasons," Ray said. "How many shapeshifting mutants are there in this world anyway..."

Jubilee continued to peruse the ground below them. "That guy tricked us," she scowled. "He played us like--oh my God."

"What?" Ray and Roberto asked in alarm.

"I just saw..." Jubilee shook her head, squinting. "Under the trees, in the shadows...I thought I saw a pair of red eyes. They were staring right at us..." She shot the boys a fearful look.

Roberto scratched his head, "The mutant predator?"

"It's invisible, remember?" Ray pointed out. He fought the involuntary tremor that threatened to display his unease. "This is somebody else, and they went through a lot of trouble of bringing guys to come and kidnap the X-Men."

"But why would they do that?" Jubilee asked. "And how did they get past the security and oh, I totally forgot about Jean and Rogue..." She shook her head, long, black tresses swaying with the movement. "Is anybody else completely freaked out?"

Roberto suddenly said, "The men. Downstairs."

They were running the next second, hurrying to the first floor. Stumbling down the master staircase, they tensed from anticipation of using their powers. But it was not action they encountered. The X-Men were still strapped to gurneys, but a pile of tangled rope occupied the space their captives used to reside.

The boys cursed under their breaths. Jubilee began biting her nails, then uttered a very uncouth word after realizing she had just ruined her manicure.

"We're so stupid!" Ray exclaimed. "He must've come in through the front while we were up there speculating." He kicked a knot of rope in angry frustration.

"At least everyone is okay," Roberto said, after checking their friends. "We should figure this out later. Right now they need to be put back in the Med Bay."

Ray kept watch at the door while Jubilee and Roberto lifted the comatose X-Men back to the Med Bay. They settled the patients into beds, reading written instructions they found on Hank's desk on how to handle the IVs and monitors. When the task was done, they returned to the foyer and saw that Ray had gathered pieces of broken wood, hammering them over the doorway.

"Doesn't matter you know," Jubilee said as Roberto went to help him. "We still won't feel safe here." She didn't look at the reactions to her words, knowing they agreed. Shivering from nervousness, she left the foyer and headed back to the Infirmary. Her eyes kept a watchful gaze as she sat stiffly on a cot, making sure no harm would come to her friends.


	26. Sacrifice

**Just to clear up in case anybody didn't realize:**

1) Timeline of this story takes place after Cajun Spice, after Uprising, and right before Ascensions I and II.

2) Mystique is not the shapeshifter bc she's already been captured by Apocalypse.

3) The red eyes belong to Morph's master, the mutant scientist.

4) Just as a tidbit, Rogue is 18 (by now in Evolution it's been a year since Scott and Jean graduated so Rogue must have already graduated) and Gambit is around 21, 22.

5) The scientist wants Rogue not Theodore Farrat.

**AND I just wanted to say** how much I appreciate your reviews. It's not the quantity but the words within them and it's absolutely gratifying to know my writing provides you guys with...all that you said in your reviews! Thanks very much to no end! --Raven

**Ishandahalf:** hope you didn't die after waiting for this. Read your last chapter by the way (my comp won't let me submit a review for some reason) and it was really sweet, nicely open-ended. I'm so sad that it's over though! **Blackrougefille:** Not Mystique. At this point in Evolution she's already been turned into a statue and sucked up by Apocalypse. Remember this is right before the Ascension episodes and everything happens accordingly.** X2P3:** the red eyes belong to Morph's master, the scientist--I'm sure you can guess who _that_ must be. As for Mystique, this "episode" takes place right before Ascension I and II so she's already captured by Apocalypse. **Sweety8587:** Imagine if you found all your friends strapped to gurneys. What a freaky thought. **Flame31:** God forbid I develop something to ruin this fic. I'd hate myself. **Flowerperson:** You wanna know that bad? Sorry that this was so delayed! **Tsugath:** I thought the title was ironic! Evil mutant info above. **Star-of-Chaos:** Why _didn't_ you start reading this sooner, you silly fool--no, I'm kidding. Thanks, thanks! **Freak87: **Funny!--when I wrote in "decelerated" I thought about what my physics teacher said too! Technically you're still accelerating even if you slow down, just that the acceleration is in the negative (opposite direction) but there _is_a word in the dictionary that says deceleration when people aren't engaged in physics jargon. **RogueCajunOzsgrl:** The newbies just never get enough screentime. I'm a softie for the underdogs. I hope this chapter met your expectations! **Totallyobsessed47:** too lazy to sign in? Haha...thanks though. **Sickmindedsucker:** Trust me, the Rogue/Gambitness just mounts to its most tantalizing dramatic culmination right here in this chapter. Whew, prepare yourself. I always do enjoy kudos. Thanks! **Just me:** Eh, sometimes you have to be mean with cliffhangers to grip readers, yeah? Haha, the newbies just never get enough kudos for their abilities! And with this chapter, man, the...well, you'll see soon enough. **Kendokao:** You bet that'd be freaky. What would you do in that situation, y'know? Essays...god, they take me hours, literally. But that shouldn't be surprising considering how long it takes me to write one of these chapters. At least this is fun, though. **Allie:** You really have to figure out what's up with those parental controls, girl! I hope you got this one ok. I love how you love me, by the way. :-) **CatStar14:** well, you do look familiar... The best writer? Thank you so much--I wish there was a different way to say thanks bc the word is so damn hackneyed by now. Glad you're luvin' it. I am in love with Gambit, too. !! We're such losers. Haha. But hey, nobody has to know except us. **Epona04:** I enjoy torture. Wrenching the readers in the gut is quite satisfying, especially when my stories do it for me--haha, that was so creepily morbid. I'll stop. Evil genius, I think I like that title. **Enchanted light:** ever constant, you! **Houser's girl:** Glad you're finally able to review. I always like to know who I'm pleasing!

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**Oh, and sorry that this took so long. It's a long-ass chapter** that I kept on re-editing...but I'm sure you guys don't mind prim and polished chapters. Yeah?

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Remy's muscles tensed. His gaze flicked from Rogue to the gun to Farrat, back to the gun.

"Lower your weapon, boy," Farrat said. "We can settle this the civilized way."

Remy narrowed his eyes, "You first."

"I think not."

Neither man moved.

Farrat sighed as if the whole situation bored him. "It seems we've reached an impasse."

"Y'can't kill her anyway," Remy suddenly remembered. "Y'takin' her t'somebody who obv'ously wants her alive."

Farrat remained placid, "Having her dead is no catastrophic loss, I can assure you."

Rogue moved to stand but was jerked back by the handcuffs. "Remy, don't," she said, staring at him with wide eyes. They were on Farrat's plane; there was still the pilot and Deaver to consider. Against such odds, they had little chance of gaining the upper hand. Remy could get hurt--or worse. She cringed at the thought of anything happening to him.

"Chere, he's pointin' a gun at y'," Remy stated, as though that fact alone justified everything.

Rogue did not miss the look of deep concern in his eyes. "Ah know, but we're not--"

"That punk pilot is completely out of line..." Deaver stopped midway out the cockpit door, facial features bemused at the unexpected scene.

Many things happened too quickly for any mind to truly register: Remy's gun snapped up at Deaver; Farrat aimed his pistol at Remy; Rogue stiffened in alarm--and several gunshots rang out.

Rogue screamed as she watched Remy fall to the floor. A dozen emotions ran through her head, stifling her breath. Suddenly her hair was fluttering about her face and she realized one of the windows had shattered. The pressure leaked out of the jet in the form of small gusts. Before she could think to cry, Remy was on his feet and tackling Farrat before he could fire another shot. Rogue struggled to process what was happening--Farrat had missed. He broke the window. Remy was fine.

Farrat was no longer a youth of potent strength. Though he was not completely diminished in muscularity, he was little match against a burly thief. The tackle knocked his head against the wall, scrambled his cerebral fluids. He struggled out of the initial daze, groping the floor around him as Gambit leapt out of the way of Deaver's plasma rays.

Remy bounded over the seats and landed beside the still-unconscious Perry. _How hard'd I hit 'im?_ he mused.

"Watch out, you fool!" Farrat shouted. "You'll shoot Annabel!"

But it was not Annabel that suffered from Deaver's unruly aim. With a snap and ring of impacted metal, the latch of the emergency escape broke loose. The door lurched unsteadily and exposed a tiny margin of free space. Air rushed out of the jet more readily through the new opening as the door continued to shudder with instability.

The intercom cackled and the pilot shouted, _"What the hell's going on back there?"_

Farrat finally located his pistol by Rogue's seat. He crawled towards it, hands reaching out but never achieving contact.

Rogue kicked out her leg in a wide swoop, booted heel colliding with his face. She watched with grim satisfaction as the aged man tumbled backwards and buckled Deaver's knees. Both fell disoriented to the floor as the plane began to wobble unsteadily.

_"We're gonna be in some real trouble _very _soon!_" the intercom wheezed. The pilot was beginning to sound panicked by his strained yells.

Remy did not notice the intercom or much of the environment, focused on reaching Rogue. He struggled along the tottering plane, falling onto his knees before her. "Jus' keep havin' t'rescue y'chere," he smirked.

"Haven't done it yet," she retorted, struggling against the handcuffs.

Remy tapped his finger to the chain, exciting a few of the molecules so acutely the matter disintegrated. "Best I can do," he said. "You'll jus' have some chunky bracelets t'wear fo'a while--" His words ceased their flow as a heavy form tackled him from behind. He fell against the wall, painfully knocking his head. Quickly, he recovered, ducking away from a punch that landed against the wall instead.

Deaver howled angrily and lunged at Remy. Both men were soon engaged in a fierce wrestle for the upper hand.

Rogue moved to apprehend Deaver, but felt someone grab her waist from behind. She whirled around with a punch but the formally unconscious Perry ducked. He snatched her wrist and twisted it behind her back. By reflex Rogue swung her other arm to smack him across the face. Her eyes darted to Farrat, who was slowly making his way towards the stirring Annabel. She lost her footing in distraction, stumbling awkwardly as Perry knocked her violently to the floor.

She landed on her elbow, sour sensations of discomfort shooting through her bones. Perry leapt on top of her, reaching for her arms to pin behind her back. She bucked furiously and made his task difficult.

Farrat stood at Annabel's stretcher-side, staring in heavy scrutiny. His eyes were not deceiving him. Her lips twisted under his cold gaze, her eyelids trembling, her eyebrows twitching. Slowly her arms remembered movement and her feet sampled the bend of toe joints. She was fighting with all her strength for consciousness while the effects of the sedative wore off. She knew she had never been this close to awakening and would not allow the chance to pass her by.

_No, _Farrat thought in alarm. _She cannot wake up. It will only complicate things. _He looked around in confusion before realizing what he had to do. Rummaging around Annabel's effects he found the bottle of sedative. His fingers searched furiously through the medical bag until they grasped a syringe and rubber cord. It was difficult to coordinate the tools, gusts of leaking air drying his eyes while an unstable plane teetered precariously. He feared harming his niece but it was a risk he was willing to take.

Annabel whimpered and groaned, her face contorting. She shifted under the tightly wrapped sheets.

Farrat worked quickly; he freed one of her arms and tied the rubber cord above her elbow to lessen the blood flow. He pulled the plastic cap off the needle and pumped it one eighth the length full of sedative.

Remy saw what Farrat was doing but Deaver had somehow managed to pin him to the floor. "Rogue!" he shouted urgently.

She too realized the threat to Annabel and fought harder against her opponent. Every time she squirmed out of the way he managed to grab her again and they would re-engage in a heated wrestle. A glint under the seat suddenly caught Rogue's eye: Farrat's pistol. "Ya know," she grunted, hand shooting out and grasping the handle. She shoved the barrel of the gun in Perry's face. "Not cool for a guy to hit a gal."

He backed away from her carefully. "You're not just any girl," he glared challengingly. "And you don't have the guts to kill anybody."

Rogue narrowed her eyes, "You're right," and lowered her arm. She pulled the trigger, shooting a well-aimed bullet into his left quadricep.

Perry shrieked in pain, clutching his leg as blood spurted from the wound. He collapsed to the floor in a melody of curses and anguished growls.

Rogue scrambled unsteadily to her feet, aiming the pistol at Farrat.

The intercom cackled again, emitting static from distrubed wires and instruments before a coherent voice could be discerned. _"That's it! I'm turning this tube around. We're not making it overseas in a damaged jet! And somebody shut that goddamn door!"_

Deaver suddenly realized the danger they were all in--the result of his scanty judgment. In his moment of worried diversion, Remy landed an effective punch in his face. Pain shot through his skull, vibrating from his jaw. He stumbled backwards and decided the intruder was not top priority. Steadying himself on the seats, he reached the emergency escape door and saw the latch was at its breaking point. He tried pulling it shut but only managed to budge it an inch. The escaping air provided too much resistant pressure. Deaver felt the door rattling uncontrollably in his grip, felt the violent tremors travel up his arms. In the flash of an instant, the moment he realized his fate, the door broke free of its hinges and pulled him along. The next moment, Deaver was gone, leaving behind a gaping hole.

The jet lurched violently and the intercom cackled once again with the pilot's voice. No one heard what was said as the howling escape of air assaulted their ears.  
"Leave her alone, Farrat!" Remy yelled over the roar.

Rogue gripped the pistol, stuggling to keep it aimed while clutching onto a seat for balance. Papers and objects flew about in frenzy, eventually sucked out of the plane through the gaping emergency exit. Her hair whipped about her face, ruthlessly lashing her skin while Remy's trench coat billowed around her.

Farrat glared at them furiously. One hand clutched Annabel's arm while the other held the needle poised above her delicate skin. He could not achieve a clean puncture as the jet continued its haphazard trembling. "You think you know!" he shouted angrily. "She will only keep hurting people!"

"She does it anyway!" Rogue shot back, provoked by his ignorance. "You're only keeping her in a coma 'cause ya want all her father's money! You're not doing anyone any favors--you're just looking after yourself!"

Farrat's glacial eyes flashed with feverish indignation, his lips contorting into a hateful sneer. "You mutants are all just a burden to this world," he snarled. "Like Patricia. She killed our father! Killed him because he hurt our mother--Annabel is just like her! She'll only keep hurting people, find new ways to ruin lives!" The hand clutching the needle shook uncontrollably, "I only want peace and this is the only way."

"You're wrong," Remy said, red eyes smouldering. "It's just the easiest."

Farrat's grip tightened on Annabel's arm. He positioned the needle over her flesh and she squirmed as if sensing the danger.

"Put that down or Ah'll blow your friggin' hand off!" Rogue shouted.

Farrat did not obey. Rogue bristled, receiving the urge to shoot holes into those cold pits of eyes. Her finger tightened over the trigger. She had already shot a man once, and with barely a thought, but the present conditions provided greater risk for her missing. What if she dealt him a fatal wound?

The plane jerked unsteadily and she nearly lost her balance.

"Chere!" Remy suddenly shouted.

Something swept under her feet. Already in precarious balance, she easily toppled over. The pistol flew from her hand and spiraled down the aisle as Perry curled his fingers around her throat.

"Bitch," he spat. "Teach you to shoot people in the--ugh!"

Rogue kneed him in the crotch. In his already marred condition, he couldn't easily defend against her blows. She kicked him in the gunshot area, dourly satisfied as his wail of affliction. Swatting away his final attempts to seize her, she shoved him off with more force than necessary. He knocked his head against the metal of a seat and fell still. As Rogue staggered to her feet, the cocking of a gun sounded behind her. She spun around, green eyes caught by Farrat's icy blue ones.

"You should have let things be," he said, and pulled the trigger.

Rogue shut her eyes--she waited for the bullet, waited for the searing pain to rip through her flesh and kill her. Time seemed to lag and she grew wholly confused as a shadow dashed before her, a strained voice crying her name. Gunshots sliced the air, penetrated the roaring wind--one, two, three. She felt Remy's strong arms wrap around her and they both collapsed. In the melee of rushing air and flying objects, Rogue struggled to understand what was happening. Remy lay on top of her, his warm breath caressing her neck, their closeness spawning hopes and dreams. He trembled for a moment as he continued to clutch her.

"Remy? What's..." A warm feeling spread slowly across her chest, but she soon realized it did not come from within herself; it came from him. Fear shot through her nerves and she tried to sit up, easing him off and gently onto the floor. "Oh my God," she gasped. "Oh God, Remy..."

Three red splotches stained his uniform, thick and glistening. They grew in size as the seconds passed, spreading into the irregular web of some surreal crimson painting. Rogue was almost sure she was dreaming. The gun had been aimed at _her_, the bullet was supposed to hit _her_--all logic escaped her reasoning. After all they had been through, after all that had happened--this was the way it would end? This was how he would leave her life? No, it couldn't be real. She looked down at her sweater, at the bloodstains perverting the cloth--his blood.

Remy was shot. Remy was dying.

Rogue shook her head furiously, pressing her hands against the wounds to slow the bleeding.

"Don' bother," he rasped behind half-lidded eyes. The red glow of his irises was not as bright as she remembered. "S'gon' be okay." He slowly raised a hand, fingers barely brushing against her cheek. "Rogue--"

"Don't," she warned him in a harsh whisper. "Ah'm not gonna hear it." How dare he voice those parting words, strengthen the gut-wrenching fear that was still only just a possibility. "You're not dy..." She could almost laugh at her weakness; she couldn't even say the word. "You're gonna be fine, Remy. You're gonna be fine."

His gaze bore into hers as he struggled to remain awake. He had been shot before, a common risk for a thief, but never in such delicate places. He could almost feel the gaping holes in his chest and side, the torn fibers of his flesh and organs. The pain was a blinding sensation, a sharp and stinging threat drawing him towards oblivion. But Rogue's scintillating eyes were his beacon to reality. He focused on the green depths as he grabbed her hand. Her flesh simmered against his, hot and burning; he never ceased to marvel at every touch they shared. Dieu, she was beautiful. He wondered if the light he saw was real or just his own imagining. Was she always so pretty, so perfect, so angelic? How ironically paradoxical that le diable blanc would pass in the arms of la ange noir...

"No--stop, Remy...Don't close ya eyes--look at meh!"

He loved her voice, her comforting southern drawl... He wondered what it would be like to hear her sing... She continued calling out to him but was sounding farther and farther away. He tried to see her but couldn't, only felt her hand clutched in his, her other cradling his head. Maybe this wasn't such a bad way to go. Despite the horrible pain, despite the frightening darkness, he was at peace. He felt her amorous warmth, breathed her fragrant redolence...Just knowing such a feeling was enough.

Rogue couldn't stop crying as she watched his eyes close. She buried her face in his shoulder, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. Nothing ever hurt so much--not Scott's rejection, not Mystique's betrayals or the curse of her mutation--nothing. It made her want to stop feeling. How was life worth living, how was hope worth having, if it would only lead to this repulsive hurt?

"Ah don't know what to do," she whispered against his neck. "Ah can't do this anymore..." He didn't have to sacrifice himself, the fool. The bullets were meant for her--how dare he cheat her out of death. How dare he care so much. How dare he...

"It didn't have to be this way."

Rogue wiped her eyes and turned at Farrat's words. He still held the pistol aimed at her head. She stared at him mournfully, saw the look of regret on his face. Her anger and hate cooled to a numb lassitude.

"I've never killed anyone," Farrat confessed. "Didn't seem significant if my men did it, didn't feel so...how could Patricia...over and over again...?" He shook his head, eyes hardening once again. "But you brought this upon yourselves. You should not have interfered." His finger tightened over the trigger.

Rogue closed her eyes. Let him shoot her. She didn't care anymore.

Suddenly the jet gave a powerful lurch, one that confirmed the genuine danger of their situation. The craft tilted perilously, throwing Farrat aside. Rogue grabbed onto a seat, her other arm clutching Remy. She clenched her eyes shut as her hair whipped her face, shrouding her in makeshift darkness.

_"I can't keep us up!"_ the pilot shrieked through the intercom. _"We're not going to make it!"_

Maybe life would be fair in that sense. In a few moments she would no longer feel.

_It's going to be okay, Rogue. I promise._

Her head snapped up, eyes searching wildly for the source of the voice. Her gaze landed on Annabel and she gasped in shock.

The girl weakly hoisted herself up by her frail elbows. She turned a dark head of wind-whipped curls to look at Rogue, blue eyes soft with sorrow.

"No!" Farrat yelled frantically. He scurried towards his niece, snatching the syringe from where it had fallen. "You must stay asleep!" He dove towards her with the needle directed, knowing very well the extent of her mutant powers.

Something snapped in Rogue's head. Annabel was weak; she needed help. Rogue was on her feet the next second, stumbling through the rocking jet. If nothing else, she was going to stop Farrat from hurting that poor girl, from stealing what little life she might have. She saw the pistol snap in her direction but didn't care.

Annabel shrieked meekly and shut her eyes in hasty concentration. Farrat cried out as his arm angled away from Rogue. His bullets left a short trail along the cockpit door before flying out of his grasp altogether. The next moment Rogue tackled him to the floor and wrenched the needle out of his hand. She grabbed his shirt collar with bloody fingers, slammed him to the aisle with angry strength. "This is all your fault!" she screamed, feeling herself lose control. "You selfish bastard! I ought to kill you! Ya murdered the only person Ah ever..." She sobbed, releasing the dazed man and falling back. Tears blurred her vision and it was hard to breathe. She felt a cool hand touch her face from behind.

_I'm going to end this now. It's gone on for too long. But I need you to know..._

Rogue closed her eyes, feeling another presence entering her mind. She was too weak to resist it, too tired to care. When she opened her eyes she was no longer in the quaking plane but a soft, hazy space. And she was not alone.

"My absorbing you was kind of a favor, huh?" Annabel asked her with a kind smile.

Rogue stared at the girl before her. She blinked, "Wha--are we in my head? Are ya pokin' around my memories?"

"I couldn't help it," Annabel shrugged. She smiled softly as though she was proud. "I wanted to know how you felt when you first touched Remy."

Rogue felt a fresh wave of grief at the reminder. The space around them rippled, became darker to mirror her emotions.

"It's not too late to save him," Annabel told her. "He's not dead...yet"

Rogue stared at her, scarcely brave enough to hope.

Annabel frowned sadly, "I don't want him to die. I don't want you to hurt. I've never had real friends...and that's what you guys feel like to me, friends. I didn't understand before, didn't realize how much he...how much you..." She shook her head, ran a hand through her hair. She stepped forward and held Rogue by the shoulders, "Just promise me something, girl. Don't judge him by his mistakes. Don't throw away what you have because of the past."

Rogue stared at her in confusion, "What are you talking about?"

Annabel shook her head, "Not yet." A tear trickled down her face but she smiled. "We're alike, Rogue. There's so much of us that's the same...and even if it doesn't feel like it, you are so lucky. You're so blessed..." She shuddered and released a breath, pulling Rogue into a sisterly hug. "But there was always something missing, right? You could never understand or control your powers. It's so simple, Rogue, and I don't know why you or your Professor couldn't see it sooner..."

Rogue hugged her back, feeling her sadness and regret, her sorrow at having never lived a life. She didn't understand her words but didn't immediately feel the need to.

"Not much time left," Annabel whispered. "They're all inside me still, you know. I keep them, every single one so I can live, but even then it's not much of a life..."

"Let us help you," Rogue said, pulling back to look at her.

"There's no way to help me."

Rogue shook her head stubbornly, "Ah always thought Ah'd never be able to touch without absorbin' someone--but look what's happened. There's always hope."

"Please, those words don't become you, Rogue," Annabel laughed dryly. "I can't keep going on like this. I have to let them all go...because as long as they're in me, they won't be where they belong."

Rogue had never been more confused. "What?"

Annabel didn't bother to explain. She gave Rogue's hands a comforting squeeze, "There's only one way to let them go. But before I do, I'm going to give you what's missing. You've been strong so far, but you don't have to do it alone anymore." Slowly, she began to fade, her presence leaving the mind space.

Rogue reached out for her, not understanding anything that had just transpired. Soon Annabel had completely disappeared and Rogue was lost. She called her name, searched for her in the haziness, but received no reply. Without warning the space around her warped, flashed in all hues of every known color. Rogue felt tingly all over, heard strange zapping noises as electric impulses in her mind worked in frenzy. As suddenly as it began, it ended, and she felt the lash of harsh air running along her body.

Remy's trench coat flapped haphazardly around her. She pulled it tighter around herself, feeling cold and jittery. Sitting up from the floor where she had fallen, she looked around in confusion. She felt strange all over though it wasn't a physical sensation; something was just evidently different. Her disorientation ended when she realized the plane was tilted at a dangerous angle, cutting through the sky with uncontrolled speed.

_It'll crash into the water soon._

Rogue turned and saw Annabel slowly crawling towards the emergency exit. The rough wind battered her delicate nightgown, tugged at her opulent curls. The white cloth clung to her emaciated body as she grabbed the door frame.

"What are you doing?" Rogue called in alarm. "Annabel--"

_You'll have to save them,_ Annabel cut her off. She continued to speak telephatically, as if her vocal cords were beyond use. _In the end it'll be up to you._

"How," Rogue rasped. She was so confused--what was Annabel doing? What was she talking about? "Ah don't have any powers that'll save us!"

_Yes, you do,_ Annabel smiled knowingly. _You just never knew it. Now you just do your part while I do mine...and everything will turn out the way it's supposed to._

A cold dread gripped Rogue's insides as she realized what Annabel planned. She crawled forward slowly, "Annabel, Ah know it feels hopeless but ya can't just give up."

_There's no other way. I was being selfish for so long. So angry, so resentful...but now I see. I understand that this way it's fair._

"It's not fair for you!" Rogue exclaimed, feeling her pain. Annabel was projecting her feelings as well as her thoughts. She wanted someone to know, to understand. Rogue could almost cry at her despair. "Please, let the X-Men find a way to help ya. The Professor, he--"

_Will be home soon,_ Annabel said, turning her head as if just noticing something. _They're fine. Father didn't do any real harm... I know you're eager to see them. Just make sure you survive this fix. I won't exactly know how the story ends. _She smiled half-heartedly. _Everyone will be freed, including your psyches, Rogue, but you know how to deal with them now. Tell Remy I'm going to miss him. _She held both sides of the door frame and leaned out. The wind thrashed her hair as though enviously trying to rip the beauteous curls away. _Just remember..._

"Annabel, don't!" Rogue cried in final desperation.

..._they're not real, Rogue. They never were._ Annabel gave her one last, sad smile. Then she let go.

The scream escaped Rogue's mouth, louder than the roaring wind or shrieking protests of the plummeting jet. She shut her eyes tight, frightened out of her mind, scared for the unknown. The moment the free fall began, it was the end. She felt so light, so weightless in a fateful plummet. The water came closer and closer until she finally met its surface and then--Rogue gasped, fingernails digging into her chest. She struggled for breath and tried to sense Annabel again, but nothing was there, no one to channel those feelings. She was gone.

Rogue wiped away her empathetic tears, forcing herself to stand. She looked around at the havoc, the unconscious forms of three men she had to save, two of which she would preferred to have jumped in Annabel's place. She knew what to do but there wasn't much time. Falling beside Remy, she wrapped her arms around him and tugged him into one of the seats. She quickly strapped him in, stomach lurching at the sight of so much blood. She spared a few seconds to see if Annabel had been right. The shallow rise and fall of his chest shot hope through her veins, gave her much needed strength. She kissed him shakily on the forehead and prayed they would make it through this.

Moving with the dive of the plane, Rogue nearly flew against the cockpit door. She wrenched it open and stumbled inside. She gasped.

"Son of...a bitch," the pilot spat with as much venom he could muster. His right hand gripped a bullet hole bleeding rivers onto the front of his uniform; his right weakly steered the plane. He looked at Rogue with sardonic laughter in his woozy eyes, "Had a bad feeling...'bout this...trip to start with..."

Rogue acted without much thought. She grabbed the sides of the pilot's face, absorbed him--thoughts, memories, aviation training--marveled at how easily she summoned her powers, amazed by the previously coveted control that now came so easily and without endeavor. She had no time to wonder how any of it was possible, hoisting the pilot out of the seat and grabbing the jet controls. Mechanically flipping switches and altering gears, she fully utilized the pilot's knowledge.

But the aircraft was too damaged and volatile. Rogue felt its instability and began to panic. What else could she do?

_They're not real, Rogue. They never were._

Rogue was unsure of what Annabel meant, couldn't rationalize through the message, but something was reeling in her head. She hadn't noticed the psyches return in all the panicked chaos. They swirled around the recesses of her mind, some whispering in hushed fear, others yelling with tight agitation. She commanded them to shut up but they didn't listen, so she forced them, willed them to be silent or be useful. And slowly, ever so subtly, something changed. The psyches became...altered. Rogue couldn't understand what was happening, but felt a new power flow within her, realized another newly possessed control.

The jet's nose tilted up slightly, its velocity lessened. Beads of perspiration exuded from Rogue's forehead in her deep concentration. Her fingers gripped the trembling controls, quivering from the strain. _Focus, _she told herself. She was boggled and confused, but couldn't remember another time of having such resolute domination. Her body spoke to her, her mind acquiescing to every request. All she had to do was..._Focus._

Telekinetic forces obeyed her summons, the metal jet slowing in its fatal plummet. The effort was exhausting. Rogue sifted through her psyches frantically, unsure of what she was doing. Once again her body and mind were cooperative; with little effort she felt the surge of magnetism replace the diminishing telekinesis. The rocking jet steadied in the air, soothed by obstinate magnetic fields.

Rogue breathed jaggedly, heart pounding loudly in her ears. Exhiliration? Fear? They were close to land; she could see the Statue of Liberty brandishing its torch. The pilot had done his job well, but it was now up to Rogue to finish it. She kept her hands on the controls, her mind on the foreign powers under her command. The jet whined and buckled but she would not let it break. Her stubbornness fueled her determination, and all the while Lady Liberty drew ever nearer.


	27. Revival

**Sorry this was later than usual, no time, no time!** I barely have time for things! Ok, no freaking out. Sorry about the lack of review replies, I really like that part but I'm sure you guys won't mind if I spent my time writing these chapters instead, because, yeah, I uploaded two tonight!

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Jubilee moved through the damaged kitchen with no luck in locating the coffee pot. She hoped it wasn't smashed like everything else. She had already spent half an hour cleaning the mess and could not find it. With every step her feet grated fine china into even smaller bits, making her wonder what had wreaked such havoc in the first place. She bit her lip nervously and sifted through the mess. Worry etched at her nerves as she thought about everything that was happening. She had never felt more uninformed, couldn't remember having such little control over life.

First it was the mutant predator, hunting down her people one by one. Then her parents came and hauled her away from her friends. But then she returned, was finally taking action against all the heinousness—and she did not feel any better than if she had just remained at home. If anything she was even more disturbed. Who were those men? Where had the shapeshifter come from? And those eyes, those evil red eyes...

Jubilee shook her head vigorously. "Stop thinking about it!" she snapped at herself and ran a hand through her silky black hair. She gasped with elation at spotting the coffee pot. Miraculously it lay on the floor, sporting many scratches to the glass but no cracks. She quickly began brewing a large pot of java. They were going to need the extra boost of energy, not having rested since returning to the Institute; there was no way any of them could get to sleep. She glanced at the clock. 6:07AM. She hadn't checked on her comatose friends for a couple hours now. After pouring herself a large mug of coffee, she walked to the Med Bay.

Ray and Roberto had been working on fixing the patio door and sweeping up shards of broken glass. They spent thirty-five minutes prying forks and knives from the kitchen door and took even longer removing the motorcycle skid marks from the foyer. Together they wheeled the Harley out of the foyer and towards the garage. It was then that the thought occurred to Ray, "That Gambit guy still around?"

"Huh," Roberto sighed, stroke his mouth. His split lip had ceased its bleeding, but was now a scarlet scab of soft tissue. "He would've left, right? I mean, what's to keep him from leaving after Mr. McCoy fixed him up."

Ray huffed, "You didn't notice how he made eyes at Rogue all the time?"

"Yeah, sure, but she's untouchable and Gambit doesn't look like one for platonic relationships."

"Guess not," Ray conceded. "Seems like a guy who doesn't like being tied down."

They propped the motorcycle against the wall of the garage, admired it for a few moments, and went back outside. The summer morning was cool, drops of dew still visible on various plants. An azure sky blushing with white cumulus clouds seemed to smile down at them, insist that the world was a better place than recent events led them to believe.

"I didn't even notice what a pretty day it is," Roberto muttered. He felt the warmth of the sun on his skin, began absorbing its energy. He always felt better afterwards. "It's just us now, huh. The adults are gone, the X-Men are gone...what the hell are we supposed to do now?" He gritted his teeth, tension building in his muscles. He seriously needed some physical exertion to exhaust this anxious energy.

Ray shook his head as they walked towards the mansion. "Don't know, man. We just have to keep our cool, figure something out. The Acolytes and Brotherhood are out of the picture...maybe the Morlocks can help."

"Maybe," Roberto said doubtfully. "If they're not all comatose already."

Ray opened his mouth to reply but stopped. He looked around, hearing a strange yet familiar whirring sound reach his ears. "Hey, what's that?"

"Don't know," Roberto said, scanning the area. "It's coming from..."

They turned towards the woods, in the direction of the sea. They weren't sure where to look or for what. After a few confused moments they finally spotted an aircraft, not very far away at all, and heading directly towards the Institute.

"X-jet?" Roberto said hopefully. "The Professor and them—"

"No," Ray shook his head, squinting. "It's too small. It's..." He noticed a trail of smoke streaming from the tail, saw the aircraft buckling unstably. It flew nearer and nearer, growing in size as it approached at an alarming speed. He missed the obvious, staring in dumb curiosity until the fact hit him: "Oh, hell—it's going to crash!"

They scurried towards the mansion, hoping that the plane wouldn't crash into the building. That was the very last thing they needed.

The small jet screamed as it swooped past them, held steady by an invisible force that was fast weakening. Ray and Roberto flew aside from the violent gusts of air. The jet's belly scraped against the tree tops until the nose dipped low enough, digging into the undergrowth. Branches, leaves, and trees flew apart from the plane's forward rampage, chunks of dirt and pebbles spraying into the air. The rumbling of metal grating against earth came to a numb silence as the jet slowed to a bumpy stop.

Ray and Roberto sorely climbed to their feet. Ray favored a scraped elbow as he turned towards the foreign aircraft. Steam rose in wispy tendrils from several areas of the abused vessel. He half-expected the thing to blow up from being so damaged. It always happened in movies, at the most unforeseen and inconvenient times.

Roberto was already soaking up more solar energy in anticipation of a fight. He nodded towards Ray and both approached the craft slowly. By trained reflex they moved into a fighting stance at the first sound.

Much to their surprise, a familiar red beam blasted an exit in the side of the plane.

"Cyclops?" Ray shot a confused look at Roberto, who was gawking at the jet.

The smoke cleared and a slender figure climbed out unsteadily. Her face was shrouded by tangled auburn hair, white stripes in front fluttering wispily. Large splotches of blood covered her chest, stained her hands. She looked up, green eyes tired and pleading. "Help him," she uttered, and collapsed to the ground.

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Jubilee came rushing out of the Med Bay, coffee still clutched in one hand. She met Ray and Roberto in the kitchen, saw a bloodied Rogue in Ray's arms, and her muscles went slack. The porcelain mug shattered to the floor, coffee splashing in a messy pattern on the linoleum.

"What—how—oh my _God!_" she gasped.

Roberto, with his heightened mutant strength, hefted an even bloodier Gambit. "We need to get him some help," he said. "The nearest hospital, where—"

"Oh, my stars and garters."

All three turned towards the voice. Ray and Roberto nearly dropped the people they carried. Hank stood in the doorway, groggily rubbing his eyes. "Come on now, get those two into the Med Bay. We just got some empty beds."

"I was just coming to tell you guys," Jubilee said. She closed her eyes, gesticulating as if it was easier to think that way. "The others—they're waking up and Hank was first and Kurt's already porting around in a panic and Jean is having a migraine and—what was that noise??" She seemed to be near hysterics. Too many things were happening at once.

Hank, ever the voice was reason and calm, told her, "It's all right, Jubilation. Everything is going to fine." He seemed very tired but was otherwise fully functional. He rubbed his head, "Gambit is bleeding profusely, Roberto. Quickly, get him into the surgical area. What's Rogue's condition?"

"It's not her blood," Ray said. "Gambit's the one with the bullet holes. And there are four other guys in that plane but we couldn't carry them all..."

"Hurry now," Hank ushered them. "Time is of the essence." He followed the boys into the Med Bay with Jubilee trailing behind.

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Roberto stood at the sink, washing his hands. He had already lathered and rinsed five times, but after handling so many bloody people, he wasn't feeling quite so sanitary. There was Gambit, a bloody pilot, a bloody red-haired man, an unconscious youth and then a certain old fellow who was refusing to answer anybody's questions, despite being the only conscious person they had discovered on the crash-landed jet. Roberto, what with his enhanced strength, did most of the lifting. He sighed and grabbed the soap bar for another round of washing.

"Try this." A furry blue paw handed him a bottle of medicated antibacterial wash.

Roberto didn't hesitate to take it. "Thanks, Mr. McCoy."

The beastly doctor nodded and removed his spectacles. He rubbed his eyes tiredly before putting them back on. "After you're done, I suggest you join the others in the reconstruction efforts. It seems our home has undergone much injury these past few days. God only knows what occurred here." He shook his head.

"You all right?" Roberto asked worriedly. "You jumped into surgery really soon after waking up."

Hank waved away his comment as though the notion was impossible. "Nonsense. I had at least an hour to recuperate before Jubilee discovered us awake. And besides, it is inherent in my mutation that I have heightened stamina." He moved away from the sink, to the tiny refrigerator he kept in his Med Bay office. Pulling out a water bottle, he unscrewed the cap and took a long drink.

"How was it, by the way?" Roberto asked.

"The surgery?" Hank recapped the bottle, set it on his desk. "As good as could be. Gambit lost a lot of blood, but he's a very lucky lad. Jean helped a lot as well. She's demonstrating innate medical instinct...but, ah, it was fortunate that Rogue arrived when she did. Another hour and he would have been beyond our aid."

Roberto shook his head and released a guttural breath, "Jesus, what do you think happened? I mean, Ray, Jubilee, and I thought we were the only ones left—besides Jamie you know, but—hell, then that airplane crashed in the backyard..." He shook his head again. "And that old man isn't telling us _anything_. I swear Ray is just going to zap him to get some answers pretty soon."

"I don't doubt it." Hank offered an assuring smile and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Don't worry yourself too much. All the loose strings will be tied in due time. I believe it's safe to say that the worst is over. Our friends are recovering by the minute and the Professor, Logan, and Storm have radioed, informed us of their homecoming." He led Roberto through the doors of his office and into the Med Bay lounge. "Fix yourself some dinner, Roberto, or go on up to bed if you're tired."

Roberto shook his head, "Nah. I'll help the others with the clean up. Wanna see how everybody's reacting to Colossus and Pyro being around." With a half-hearted smirk, he left the Med Bay, but not before sparing one last glance in the direction of Rogue's bed. He frowned worriedly, wondering just _what_ she had been through, then promptly departed.

Hank sighed. Grabbing some charts along the way, he entered the main patient sector of the Med Bay. Seven beds were currently being occupied. Scott, Lance, and Amara remained in bed rest, still quite weak from muscle atrophy. At the moment Jean sat at Scott's bedside, holding his hand and engaged in a quiet conversation. Every once in a while one of them would laugh, give the other a reassuring squeeze of the fingers. Amara was peacefully reading a _Seventeen_ magazine while Lance slowly sipped from a Styrofoam cup.

"How's the soup, Mr. Alvers?" Hank approached. He checked the boy's vitals as he spoke. "I haven't tried it myself, but I trust Tabitha and Wanda can brew a decent stew?"

"A little watery," Lance replied, "but it's okay." He seemed anxious to get out of bed, as though uncomfortable with being under the X-Men's care. "So, I can get out of here now, right?"

"Another day in bed will do you well," Hank told him. He scratched some notes onto the boy's chart and smiled like a good doctor. "Finish that whole cup, digest a bit, and then take a slow walk around the Med Bay. You have to reintroduce your muscles to movement a little bit."

Lance nodded and Hank moved to the next patient.

"Utterly absurd," Amara said as he approached. "I wouldn't pay seventy dollars for that poncho. It's so ugly!"

"Fad interests are fads for a reason, yes?" Hank chuckled.

Amara huffed, "It's the shock factor. Afterwards you wonder 'What was I thinking' because you realize just how gross the outfit was." She flipped the page and smiled, "Now this angora sweater I can understand." She was strangely cheerful and indifferent towards her situation. Before being rendered comatose, it was obvious that she had been frightened and insecure, but her present attitude contradicted the previous trepidation.

Hank knew why: none of the victims could clearly remember what happened to them. It seemed their minds had been so boggled and confused during the mutant predator's attack that memories of the actual deed were disrupted beyond potency, no longer comprehensible. Images of a wispy face and fading semblances of fear floated about Hank's memories—but nothing concrete enough to evoke any post-trauma symptoms. He was glad for that, already having many things to worry about.

When he moved on to the next bed, Jean and Scott were equally amiable. Scott himself said he felt very well-rested, though slightly weak from days of lacking movement. Hank then moved to check on the wounded pilot and the red-haired stranger. Both were heavily sedated but recovering well. After scribbling the appropriate notes on their charts, Hank approached the young brunette man holding an ice pack to his head.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Napes?"

"Uh...fine."

Hank noticed the apprehensive glances directed his way. "Looks can be deceiving," he said to the young man. "I don't bite."

Napes released a nervous laugh. "Heh, yeah...so, when can I get out of here?"

"After you've answered some of our questions."

"Listen, seriously, I don't know what's going on. I mean, this is just a gig, y'know? I'm trying to pay my way through college and I sleep half the time on the job anyway so please don't do mutant tortures on me or anything because—"

"Mr. Napes, relax," Hank cut him off. "We do not torture people. That is not the X-Men's purpose. Otherwise I wouldn't bother doctoring you."

Napes frowned as the logic dawned on him. "Guess not," he shrugged.

"Jean," Hank called, "would you please escort Mr. Napes to the main living area? Ray and the others are questioning the other...guest."

Jean hesitantly stood from Scott's side. Waving the young man to walk ahead of her, she followed him out of the Med Bay.

With a resigned sigh, Hank moved on to his last patient.

She had miniscule injuries when brought into the Med Bay. The worst wounds were tiny scratches along her hands and neck; save for a bruise on her jaw and frayed skin around the wrists, Rogue was completely well. Or so she physically appeared. Hank went through the usual routine of checking the vital signs. He stood at her bedside, counting the intervals of her pulse and breathing rate; he checked the dilations of her pupils and then body temperature—all appeared within normal parameters. Jotting down the results, he frowned in deep contemplation. She had slept through the entire day without so much as a twitch or murmur. Hank doubted it was because of physical exertion, though he guessed that also must have been substantial. He admired the girl's persevering strength, the stamina she possessed that might easily have been on par with his own. At the same time, he wondered about her mental state as well. What Ray and Roberto had described when the jet crash-landed...

Rapid footsteps patted through the air and Tabitha suddenly appeared in the Med Bay, short blond hair slightly windblown. "They're back!" she exclaimed excitedly.

Nobody required further elaboration. Hank filed away the patients' charts and eagerly joined the others gathering in the foyer. He smiled with the knowledge that the X-Men were now whole again.

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**Heh, I just realized **that this chapter had almost no Rogue/Remy in it at all! Well, hope the next one's better...yet we are still in the process of recovery.


	28. Aftermath

Rogue was experiencing a strange sensation. In the beginning she wasn't sure if this was good or bad, but soon enough, she could recognize what she felt as elation. Elation at being in her own mind. The notion was utterly mad, she knew, but the veracity of it was evident. She had hated her mind, abhorred the depths of a consciousness that continually plagued her, that was filled with uncontrollable excess psyches. But now, everything had changed. Now, she had control—complete, utter control. And it was wonderful.

She didn't really understand why, or how, or even when exactly, but she knew it to be true. The psyches were still present in her mind although were now kept dormant in a powerful mental cache. Annabel's last words echoed in Rogue's mind: _They're not real, Rogue. They never were._ Deep within, she understood the meaning of the words; consciously, they made no sense at all. But Rogue didn't care because she was elated. She felt control in its sheer quintessence; it gave her such a sense of security and self-assurance that she was almost giddy.

No more screaming. No more headaches. Only peace—calm, placid, tranquil peace.

Rogue leisurely opened her eyes to impure darkness and strange aloofness. Soft hums, whirs, and bleeps assured her of being in the Med Bay. Faint lights from monitors and instruments prevented the domination of total darkness. Her vision slowly adjusted and shadowed shapes came into view. She languidly perused the area, saw several beds with occupants she couldn't discern the identities of. She counted five, but vaguely remembered that there should have been more because there were more comatose people; because the victims numbered at least nine; because the mutant predator had put them there... Her thoughts crashed to a halt, the fallacy of her convictions detected. Her strange euphoria immediately disappeared.

Annabel woke up. Annabel let go. Annabel fell and...

_Everyone will be freed, including your psyches, Rogue, but you know how to deal with them now._

Her breathing came in short gasps as everything returned to her, an assault of unpleasant and sickeningly distressful memories. She felt tears burn her eyes, sear the flesh of her cheeks as they trickled down her skin. Pure, touchable skin. No more poison.

_There's no other way. I was being selfish for so long. So angry, so resentful...but now I see. I understand that this way it's fair_.

"No," Rogue whispered to herself. "It wasn't fair. It was never fair for you." She hugged her knees to her chest, buried her face in her arms. Not fair at all. It had never been fair and should not have ended the way it did. _She_ should not have ended the way she did.

_Tell Remy I'm going to miss him._

Rogue felt her heart wrench. She gasped and swallowed the lump in her throat. She crawled out of the bed, visualizing his gun-shot chest, his blood-soaked uniform. She remembered watching him die, remembered feeling the world blacken to an unbearably cold, cold despondency. More tears sprang into her eyes as she crept through the Med Bay. Where was he? Did they save him? Where had they taken him? They...

Ray and Roberto stood by the mansion, eyes wide, mouths hanging open. She stumbled out in a weak heap and someone was picking her up...

She shook her head, not caring to recall the events of her return. Where was he? She crept through automated glass doors, heard voices somewhere near. They were low tones, deep and guttural, alto and feminine. Logan? Storm? But how could it be—they were all still in Austria...

Rogue froze, her breath catching in her throat. There.

He lay in the same cot as when he first came to the Institute for help. She lingered fondly on the thought. That first night seemed so long ago. So much had happened since then... Many sheets covered his lean form, a few thin and a thicker comforter. He was cozily supported by pillows, his head lolling slightly to one side. Intravenous tubes fed nutrients and narcotics into his veins while a heart and head monitor blipped at steady intervals.

Rogue released a silent breath at seeing him so relaxed, in such peace. She slowly approached. Strangely, she felt awkward, hesitant from being near him. Something nagged at the back of her mind and she couldn't quite place it; probably wouldn't want to anyway.

He stirred, turned his head slightly.

"Remy?" she said softly, a hushed whisper.

His eyelids fluttered slightly. His arm bent in attempted movement.

Rogue entwined her fingers through his, knowing nothing would happen. His skin was warm and soft against hers. She relished in the feel as though it was her first, tracing her fingers along his hand, his forearm. Touch once so coveted, touch now so cherished.

He weakly squeezed her hand. Rogue smiled.

Hoisting herself onto the bed, she eased herself down beside him. She draped an arm gently over his chest, reveled in his radiating warmth. She saw his half-open eyes gaze dreamily at her, the red irises glowing with amber softness through the dark. She released a sigh and burrowed her face in his shoulder. He let his chin rest atop her head.

It was then that the nagging thing surfaced in Rogue's memory. Something Annabel had said... _Don't judge him by his mistakes. Don't throw away what you have because of the past._

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It was good to be home. When they had first arrived, his deep foreboding seemed to be confirmed by the state of the Institute that greeted them. But as his students came out to hail their homecoming, his fears melted away by the sight of their glorious faces. He was immediately informed of the current events and the state of the students. No one was comatose. In those moments of debriefing, the Professor could not remember a feeling of greater assurance. His X-Men had been put though a trying test and they had passed without casualty. It proved to him that they were very capable in his absence, that all these years of training had poignant influence upon their choices and actions.

But their present tribulations were not yet resolved. Strangers resided within the Institute, ones cooperative and others with stubborn tongues.

"You are only making matters more difficult, Mr. Farrat." Matters were quite difficult, indeed, what with the psychic barriers this man seemed to possess. The Professor theorized that it might be some innate mutant ability he was unaware of. If his sister had been a mutant, perhaps the traits were merely recessive in his genes and therefore, the adeptness latent and unknown.

Theodore glared icily at the Professor but remained silent. He continued to sit worldlessly bound to his chair. His calm demeanor and unrelenting tenacity had quickly become perplexing. Logan constantly extended and retracted his claws, rubbing his knuckles for intimidation purposes. His glares were as hot and angry as Farrat's were cold and indifferent.

The Professor rubbed his eyes. The hour was late and the flight from Europe had been long. He was beginning to lose his patience with this man. "Mr. Napes, Mr. Perry, and your pilot have already informed us on the general events," he said. "We know who you are and what you have done."

Farrat no longer tried containing his contempt. "Good help is so difficult to find these days. Even mindless blokes like Napes and Perry cannot do a job effectively," he huffed.

The Professor frowned, "I suggest you cooperate, Mr. Farrat. We released your men without punishment, but you will not be so fortunate. We are quite willing to turn you over to the police for child abuse and kidnapping—as well as any other crimes we may pin on you. Trust that we will be as thorough and creative as possible."

"Better if we just kept him here," Logan grumbled. The light glared off his adamantium claws. "How many ways to slice up an old, perverted kidnapper?"

"You think you scare me," Theodore muttered. "Mutants are nothing. You are nothing."

"Then why all the effort?" the Professor asked. He hid his concern well; he did not allow anyone to view just how worried he was with what Ray, Roberto, and Jubilee had told him. "It was your men that invaded this institute, your men that gathered the comatose students for extraction purposes, your men that indefatigably pursued Rogue." He narrowed his eyes, radiating anger in its most pacific state. "Now I ask you for the final time: why are you targeting my X-Men?"

Theodore looked at him as though he were a child. "You know it is not solely my efforts. Your student witnesses must have informed you." He huffed, "Americans, always 'beating around the bush'."

The Professor's frown deepened. Patience. Much of his work called for patience. "Yes, Mr. Farrat, my student has informed me of such. But she spoke of a versatile shapeshifter and a bearer of evil red eyes. Who is this man with red eyes, Mr. Farrat?"

The man snorted, "You have him here under medical attention. His name is Gambit."

"You know that is not to whom I refer."

For a moment Theodore seemed to deflate. His glacial eyes drooped towards the carpeted floor of the study. He looked tired and old. "I don't know," he muttered.

"You don't know?" the Professor echoed.

Theodore bristled, "Are you bloody deaf? I don't know his name or where he comes from. He provided me with useful information and I was returning a favor. But you and that _Rogue_ have denied me of that."

"Why is he collecting mutants?" Logan demanded impatiently.

"I don't know, why does anyone want mutants?" Theodore shot back. "It seems all mutants are good for is firepower and experimentations. Seeing as how the man was a scientist, you can imagine." His cold eyes flashed with an imponderable emotion. "Maybe he could have helped Annabel...had I thought of it at the time..."

Logan huffed, "Un-freakin'-believable. Stop acting like you ever cared about that girl. You were usin' her for her father's money. Your sister's kid, your niece, your friggin' _family_."

"I know who she was to me!" Theodore bellowed angrily. "Don't you dare throw those words in my face like I don't understand their meaning! I did not intend for _any of this_ to happen! You X-Men shouldn't have interfered—it is all your wrongdoing!"

Xavier massaged his temples. "All this misfortune would have occurred in one way or another, Mr. Farrat," he said calmly. "You must help to amend the situation to repent for your crimes. I see how this has eaten away at your conscience. Help us and maybe regain some peace of mind."

Theodore fixed his cold gaze on the floor. "I already told you," he voiced tonelessly. "I do not know who he is or exactly what he planned. Only a dropoff point, a laboratory."

"What is the location?"

The man hesitated, his mouth opening then closing. He seemed to give in, the vehement gleam fading from his cold eyes. This was the end; there was no victory fighting the tide. "Warehouse sector twenty-nine just outside Jersey City. My men were to take her there after Annabel and I were safely settled in Cuba." Then he added dryly, "As you see, that didn't go as planned."

Xavier turned towards Logan, who was already heading for the door.

"I'm on it, Chuck." He was gone the next moment.

"Don't be stupid," Theodore said. "If the scientist knew his plans were spoiled, he would not linger at the lab. He knows I would betray his location."

"Nevertheless we shall be thorough." Xavier gently clasped his hands together. "I'm sure the Count has been weighing heavily on your mind," he said slowly.

Theodore noticeably twitched.

"We attempted to contact Armand a few hours ago. His servants informed us that he has departed from Austria."

Theodore laughed sardonically, "So villains do indeed get their dues."

Xavier frowned, "He will not pleased with what happened to his daughter, that is apparent. I am concerned about how he will approach you."

"I don't require your concern. Let go of those excessively humanitarian impulses, Charles Xavier. They will only cause you more pain and perturbation in the end."

The Professor opened his mouth to reply but a knock sounded at the door. "Come in."

Surprisingly, it was Scarlet Witch who entered. She stepped in to speak with the Professor, but noticed the man bound to the armchair. Her eyes darkened and she pointed an accusatory finger at him, "You're the asshole behind all this, huh? I ought to--"

"Wanda," the Professor interposed, "did you need something?"

She pursed her lips in disgust. She kept her eyes on Farrat while speaking, "You have visitors. Some guy calling himself a Count. He's got other people with him, too."

A curt, guttural laugh escaped from the prisoner.

"Thank you, Wanda," the Professor said. He wheeled himself towards the door. "Can you keep an eye on Mr. Farrat while I greet them?"

"Gladly," Wanda said, a spiteful gleam in her eyes. She frowned at the disapproving look the Professor gave her, found herself feeling guilty. What was it about this man's authority? Without the potency of despotism he was obediently followed, and willingly so. Wanda began to understand why the X-Men were so gung-ho about Xavier's dream of mutant-flatscan peace--the man selflessly wanted a better world and devoted actual effort towards achieving that goal. "I'll try not to hex him too severely," Wanda gritted.

The Professor nodded and left the room.

----------------------------------------

Ororo warily eyed the Count. She stood with her arms crossed, eyes focused in a stern gaze. It would be a while before she forgot Armand's prodigious maltreatment of his guests. She still felt sore from days of being locked away in a dungeon. Momentarily turning her attention from the august man, she scanned the other strangers in the parlor.

The Count had not arrived alone. Three Austrian guards of an elite order stood at designated areas of the room. Stern-faced, stiff-backed, and gun-eager, they carried about an air of harsh discipline and strict authority. Ororo was neither impressed nor intimidated, ready to strike them down lest they attempt anything.

Finally, the Professor arrived. He wheeled into the parlor and immediately locked eyes with the Count, who rose to his feet.

"Charles."

"Armand."

A few seconds of tense silence followed. Locked within each other's eyes, the pair of eminent men continued to gaze in an unerringly austere manner. The Count's bodyguards seemed on the brink of violence.

Suddenly the Count released a breath of air and rubbed his eyes tiredly. The tension immediately dispersed.

"About your daughter," the Professor began.

The Count held up a hand, "I've been informed. I don't vant to hear it again." He looked down at the floor, a strength seeming to disappear as he stood there so despondently. "It iz my fault. I never should have given her to Theodore. She should have lived vith me, her father..." His eyes closed, lids clenching together tightly and displaying many wrinkles along his forehead and temples. When he opened his eyes, they gazed with a piercing hardness. "I vant Theodore."

"Armand," the Professor said, "I understand that you are angry and hurt. Theodore has undoubtedly deceived you in the most blasphemous of ways...but it would be wrong to--"

"I vill not kill him," the Count interrupted. "I vant him to suffer."

"I cannot allow--"

"It is not your decision to make. Theodore is not a citizen of the States. He is one of my countrymen, has been since moving to Austria vith his sister."

The Professor fixed him with a level gaze, eyebrows arched and slanted in a deploring manner. "And you plan to exact your own form of justice," he said coolly, "with the power of your counthood."

"Vhat else vould you expect me to do, Charles?" the Count inquired, almost nonchalantly. Anger, resentment, and despair were obvious upon his face, in the way he stood and clasped his hands, in the flicker and glare of his eyes--but he kept himself under such royal composure that Ororo thought he might soon explode. "Even you cannot presume to be vighteous enough in such a position. You spoke of a son. Vould you vish Theodore long life and happy endings if it vas your son that was degraded and perished so?"

All eyes focused on the Professor, whose expression had not changed.

"She 'must have jumped'," the Count continued. He shook his head incredulously. "Must have...must have...vill I ever find her body, I vonder?" A hand went up, fingers wrapping over his mouth and chin.

The Professor closed his eyes. When he opened them again he gazed at the floor. "I realize this is beyond any jurisdiction of mine." He lifted his face, a tenacious expression of request in his eyes. "But I must ask you, Armand, to reconsider. No matter how much you may hate him, he is still a human being. He is still Patricia's brother."

Whether or not the final statement had affect on the Count, none could not tell. "Where is Theodore?" he asked solemnly.

The Professor did not reply. He shook his head and released a resigned sigh.

Ororo offered, "Second floor, left hallway, third door on the right."

The Count flicked his wrist and his guards were on the move. As he walked past the Professor, he placed a hand on his old friend's shoulder. "He does not deserve your compassion, Charles."

"Neither does he deserve your blind hate."

The Count removed his hand, dug it into the pocket of his dark wool coat, and moved past.

"You are angry with yourself. You blame yourself for Annabel's death; you blame yourself for Patricia's death," the Professor continued. He did not turn around, did not see the Count miss a beat in his step. "And now you will release that self-hate upon an undeserving man who has wronged you. The punishment you have in stored for him is disproportionate to his crimes." He rubbed his eyes, argued his case a final time before fully submitting to events beyond his control, "Inflicting pain upon another will not vanquish your own, Armand."

Ororo stared at the Count's back. She half-expected him to turn around and retort in some bitter way. But he did not, only continued walking. The Professor's words had been more trenchant than he would ever allow them to see.

A heavy silence befell the parlor. The Professor continued to sit and brood. Suddenly he wheeled himself around with surprising adroitness and left the room. Ororo followed close behind. They entered the foyer just as the Count's men came down the stairs with a languid Theodore Farrat in their hold.

The Professor said nothing, mouth set in grim dissatisfaction. Ororo could see that his inability to help Farrat was plaguing. His natural tendency for compassion and understanding would only eat at his conscience--prompt the question, "Was there something else I could have done?"

Theodore Farrat did not spare a glance towards the X-Men. Walking cooperatively, he was led out the freshly-fixed door and down the steps. The Count bowed his head towards the Professor and put on his hat. The door shut lightly as he disappeared on the other side.

Ororo placed a hand on the Professor's shoulder. "There was nothing to be done, Charles," she said. "Trust that Armand will empathize enough not to be cruel to Theodore."

The Professor sighed in resignation. "These dire events have taken a toll on all of us--the Count and Theodore especially. How does one cope with such circumstances?"

Ororo shook her head, "I do not know."

"It's a tragedy, Storm," the Professor said. "I could not help Patricia, and I did not have the chance to try and help Annabel...both whose mutations were a curse upon their lives."

Ororo hugged herself, a deep sorrow swelling in her chest. Poor Annabel, poor Patricia--trapped within themselves and unable to contend with Fate. One would end within the burning lick of fire, the other by the cold suffocation of water... Ororo sniffed, blinked back tears. She realized that the Velkonnens were not the only mutants who suffered so, knew of many others afflicted by the bodies they were born into. "They are together now," she said for consolation. "By the Goddess, they are together now."

The Professor lowered his head, an acknowledgement to death and hope for the beyond.

-------------------------------

The last pile of rubble fell into the trash bag. Jubilee set the dust pan aside and tied the bag shut, shoved it over to the growing heap of junk in the kitchen. She sighed and brushed back her hair. "I am exhausted!" The flotsam and jetsam of the kitchen had been cleared: every bit of debris swept away, every unbroken utensil, dish, and appliance returned to its proper location.

A sharp _thunk_ replied to her declaration as Ray slid the newly-installed patio door shut. He patted the smooth glass in satisfaction. "Can't do better than this," he said proudly. "Completely perpendicular."

Jubilee lackadaisically clapped her tired hands, "That's great--are we done now?"

"There's still broken glass on the patio," Roberto yawned.

Jubilee groaned, covered her face with her hands.

"I can take care of it," Ray said. "I'm not tired. You guys can go."

"You sure?" Roberto asked. "It's almost twelve-thirty--"

"Thanks, Ray!" Jubilee exclaimed and hugged him despite her weariness. "You're my favorite person for the day."

"Greeeat..." Ray drawled. He waved them off and grabbed the broom.

Jubilee left the kitchen with Roberto following behind. "Do you realize we haven't slept for nearly twenty hours?" she asked as they entered the foyer.

Another yawn tested the flexiblity of Roberto's jaw, "Seems longer than that."

They walked through the foyer and started up the master staircase. "The work isn't even over yet," Jubilee sighed. "There's still that plane in the backyard, for one thing."

"Jesus," Roberto breathed, as the enormity of what had occurred hit him. "How did Rogue do all that anyway?"

"She hasn't woken up yet to tell us. But honestly, I'm more worried about who those guys were."

"They worked for that Farrat man. Wonder what's going to happen to the geezer..."

"No, I'm not talking about those three lackeys. The other two--the shapeshifter and the one with red eyes..." Jubilee shivered as she started up the stairs to the girls' dormitory. "They're after us and we still have no idea who they are or what they want."

Roberto frowned, remembering the shapeshifter. There was no way to tell if it was truly a male or female, but Roberto had been able to sense that something was not quite right about the mutant. Something was missing, void in those blank eyes and placated facial expressions. "Do you think they'll come back?"

Jubilee hugged herself, "Probably not, since the X-Men aren't so vulnerable anymore. Honestly, I don't know. Ugh, makes me nervous just thinking about it." She turned and started towards her room. Suddenly she stopped, turning her head so Roberto only caught her profile. "I have a really bad feeling about all this."

Roberto looked at the floor, noticed the depth of the shadows in the hall. "So do I."

"You think something bad's going to happen to us all?"

"I don't think _we_ have a whole lot to do with what's happening."

Jubilee turned to face him, "Meaning what?"

"Who's been involved in everything from the start?"

A worried frown creased Jubilee's forehead as she realized his point. "Rogue." She bit her lip then shook her head furiously. "This hasn't all centered around her."

"She was being kidnapped. Some freak mutant wanted her. Probably the same one that attacked us."

"But she's been through so much already. I mean--God--how much can one girl take?"

Roberto shrugged, the only gesture he deemed appropriate. "She's a fighter. She'll deal, like she always does. That's something we can count on."

* * *

**Mmm, more speculations** from the X-Men. I put all this stuff here for the purpose of foreshadowing--in case any of this seems superfluous or redundant (I know you all want to get to RR but time, time). I know it doesn't have the same affect if I just come right out and _tell you_ but couldn't help it.


	29. Morning After

**Holy crap** I did not realize it's been two weeks. Two weeks since my last update! God, I'm becoming like the other authors who hardly ever update. Uggghhh.... Seriously, though, if I had more time, these updates would come up faster. Real life just catches up to you, you know? I'm sure you guys understand.

And since I wanted to get this up as soon as possible, I didn't really read it over with care like I usually do. So you guys are just gonna have to deal with the typos and spelling/grammar mistakes. Next chapter will come up sooner, I think!

**Ah, hell**, I have to proof read. I'll upload in few minutes...

**Nightshade: **whoa, 11-3 in the morning is quite a time-frame for reading. I think my brain would be too fuzzed up at that time to be able to function. Good job. I'm brewing up the plot for the sequel. Can't wait to actually start writing it! **Star-of-Chaos:** yeah, tons of blood flow would kind of distract you, huh? I can't remember if this chapter has fluff or not....** Ishandahalf:** the badness is far far far from being over. It's actually just beginning. The seeds have been planted, so to speak. We'll see if Rogue takes Annabel's advice or not. She's a very obstinate girl, as you well know. Are you writing any other stories? Please write some, or recommend me some. I need something good to read. **Sweety8587:** Don't ya like how Rogue climbed into bed with Remy? He wasn't really all that awake though so...eh, w/e. And this story is far from over. You can kind of say it crosses over to the next one, what with Morph and Sinister to consider... And no, sorry, but Romy angst can never be avoided.** Blackrougefillie:** Annabel is dead and Rogue has control, but that has yet to be explained. **Flowerperson:** Oh, you're in England!That's so cool. I always wanted to talk to an English person. You've just many good things going for you, huh. **Nai-Pants:** You like? Hope I continue to deliver. This story still has a way to go. **Allie:** Oooh, sorry about the big words. I try to use the new vocab I've learned. I hope I didn't overdo it to make it all like I whipped out some thesaurus. Ugh, that'd be awful. I think I will tone it down a bit. You didn't get chapter 27?? But every one is crucial! If you want, I can send it to you. **CatStar14:** Yeah, I am in high school. I pride myself on my writing skills--it's seriously all that I have! Hope this update wasn't too belated. **TotallyObsessed:** Here is what happens next, but I don't think there's much Romy. **GreenFairyGirl88:** heck no the story's not over. Not for some chapters yet. And, eech, this was certainly my latest update yet. **Enchanted light:** thanks, as always **Freak87:** so many questions and musings! I can't possibly respond to them all, but yeah, for sure Annabel is dead. Dead as a doornail, though I don't understand that saying, or did I just get it wrong? Oh, who really cares. I almost forgot about Napes, the pilot, and Perry still on the plane. Heh, talk about plot holes--which I hate. Plot holes ruin a good story. **Kendokao:** haha, tons of bloody people in general, that made me laugh. And yeah, now that I think about it, that _was_ a lot of stuff to take in at once. Ever wonder how much tension and pressure are really put on the characters of such complex stories? I mean, I would certainly snap. **Cd lover:** Oh, jesus! Didn't know you cared so much about Kitty! But I promise, she has a scene just for her coming up. I think it's the chapter after this one though...please don't stop reviewing!! **Angel-In-Black:** The best? Oh, you're too much, but don't stop. More will come, especially with the sequel. **Epona04:** uh, hmm, I guess this is still a continuation of "Demon In My View", though it does set up a lot for the sequel. Actually, this whole story sort of set up for the sequel. Huh, well, you'll see. **Flame31:** you think so? Thank you! Hope you like this chapter just as much. **EmeraldKatsEye:** I can't remember if you've ever reviewed before...your name looks new, but w/e. That good, huh? Thank you for your praises. You guys are the reason I do this--well, half of it anyway. Sorry about such a late update! **Shockgoddess:** I wish I could bow to your applause, I've always wanted to bow. I hope the sequel is awesome. You know how sequels sometimes end up badly bc they live up to the original? God, that'd suck if that happened.

* * *

He was nearly certain she had been there. Memory was not serving him particularily well at the moment, but he could still feel her warmth. He remembered her eyes, dusky green in the darkness, gazing at him with fatigued tenderness. So close, so warm... But now she was gone.

He tried to move, found his muscles uncooperative. A tired nostalgia enveloped him and made it difficult to gather thoughts together. He could not remember what had happened or why he was lying in a bed, unable to move or think properly. He just wanted to see her. He had a faint inkling that something bad had happened and him being barely conscious was horribly inconvenient.

There were voices and movement around him. People were present. Two; neither of them her.

"How is he doing?"

"Much better. I was afraid he might develop complications in the night, but it seems he's recovering as quickly as can be expected. Gambit sure does know how to bounce back, even after the previous injuries. Curious, I wonder if he was even fully healed of _those_..."

"When will he awake?"

"Few hours yet. It's only five o' clock. The morphine is running through his system prolifically."

"Then I suppose I must wait before getting any answers."

"Why is that?"

"I think it would be better for Rogue and Gambit to be questioned together. They seem to have bonded somewhat, from what Jean tells me. And both have obviously played key roles in what transpired." A pondering silence ensued. "Yes, well, there is much explaining to do. The students need to be informed of the new developments. Join us upstairs in a few hours, Hank, when you are finished."

"Will do."

Remy barely heard the whir of wheels rolling away. He wanted so badly to wake up, but the strength would not come. Focus escaped him and his mind began to wander indolently. His thoughts revolved around a certain girl, a warm place, a perfect time. Soon he forgot the urgent need for consciousness and surrendered once again to blissful dreaming.

-------------------------

"C'mon, give it a shot."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because! Just leave me alone!"

"Crikey, you X-girls are jumpy as nervous wallabies."

Amara glared daggers at Pyro, "And you Acolytes are as annoying as cold sores."

Colossus turned his austere gaze in her direction. "Please, do not judge us all by him," he said, and returned his attention to buttering a morning muffin.

The X-Men were gathered in a rather deranged kitchen for a makeshift breakfast. All of them still looked tired though it was close to eight o' clock in the morning. A few of the chairs were broken, Jean had pointed out sheepishly, so many of them dined while sitting on counters or standing. Food was in short supply, but after Kurt ported to a local grocery and back, it was sweet pastries and bottled juice galore. Everyone ate their fill, knowing full well of the tasks to be completed that day.

Lance, Scott, and Amara were seated at the table, still slightly weak and dressed in Med Bay scrubs. Pyro sat in the chair adjacent to Amara's, feet propped up on the table while lazily chewing upon a glazed donut.

"Aw, she don't mean it," he said confidently. Amara's remark caused his grin to widen. "Feisty little sheila, though, ain't ye, gal? C'mon, what's the harm in showin' off ye powers?"

"Because you'll just manipulate the fire and burn the whole mansion down," Amara huffed.

Pyro opened his mouth to retort but Scott said, "She's too weak to use her powers anyway. Give it up."

"Blimey," Pyro rolled his eyes. "Better get myself outta here 'fore a fight breaks out." He slowly rose from his chair. "Wonder how my buddy Gambit's doin'."

"I would like to know also," Colossus said, and followed Pyro towards the exit.

Scott's eyes immediately narrowed. "That Cajun's still here?"

"Give him a break," Kurt rolled his eyes. "The guy's been through a lot."

"And we haven't?"

"You've been sleeping for most of the time, mate," Pyro drawled as Colossus ushered him out. "Don't reckon that's experiencing much!"

"I didn't ask you," Scott scowled as the two Acolytes left.

Kurt scratched his left calf with his right toe, feet suspended while perched on the countertop. "Anybody else think it's a little veird that the Acolytes are here?" he said. "Like ve're all buddies or something."

"No different than having Brotherhood members around." Tabitha yawned and leaned back against the wall. She sat cross-legged upon a cushion on the floor, looking unkempt with her usually spiky hair flat and awry.

Wanda narrowed her eyes and Lance shifted in his seat.

Scott drew a stiff sip of his coffee, lost in his own conviction of conspiracy. "I wouldn't be surprised if Gambit was the cause of all this. Everything started the night he came here, all beat up for reasons he wouldn't explain. I'll bet--"

"Shut up, Scott," Jean snapped.

All eyes turned to the redhead in both shock and amusement.

Jean clenched her eyes shut. She remembered standing at the window, watching as a distraught Rogue ran into the mansion. She remembered seeing Gambit disoriented and hurt, stumbling in an attempt to reach the door... Jean opened her eyes and ran a hand through her hair. She did not meet Scott's gaze. "I don't know why you dislike Gambit so much," she said calmly, "but you don't know what's happened. You don't know what it's been like around here with everyone sick or gone..."

Her words delivered a sobering silence, made everyone remember their troubles. Last night's jollity had shrouded the effects of their problems; many had almost forgotten about the mutant predator amidst all the excitement of awakening and the adults' return.

"It was horrible," Jean murmured. "Rogue and I...we didn't know whether you guys would wake up or die. We didn't know which of us would be next...who would be left alone."

Kurt noticeably twitched. He had a faint recollection of reading a book in his room, hearing an eerie voice whispering threats into his ear, a head-splitting ache in the skull...

The kitchen was so silent that many of the X-Men feared their breathing was too loud. Jean's testimony seemed to demand the respect and attention of a eulogy. The students glanced at each other with uncertainty until all eyes landed on the team leader. Scott's previously shocked expression softened to complacent empathy.

Jean sighed. "What I'm getting at is, none of you--not even me--knows what really happened, how much Gambit or Rogue was really involved. So until we do know the whole story, we shouldn't make such unfair judgments." She looked at Scott, "You don't know how horrible it was. Things were bad and looked like they were only getting worse--and he stuck around. He helped us." He helped Rogue, she thought to herself.

Scott reached forward and clasped her hand. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to sound like a jerk."

Jean offered a weak smile, "I didn't mean to snap at you. I just--all this has been _so much_ to handle and I _still_ don't understand what's going on!"

"Then perhaps I can clarify."

Jubilee yelped as she spun around in her seat. "Professor! Don't sneak up on us like that! I thought--" She shook her head and Ray patted her on the shoulder. He exchanged a knowing look with Roberto.

The Professor winced slightly, "I apologize." He wheeled himself further into the kitchen until he was in proper view of everyone. "You all have many questions, but let me first say how proud I am of all of you, the maturity and teamwork you showed." He paused, sagacious eyes resting upon each individual's for a brief second. "But our problems are not yet resolved. There is still the matter of..." He stopped as he realized someone was missing. Suddenly, he realized he had not seen her in the Med Bay. "Where is Rogue?"

Kurt's fuzzy tail nervously twitched as he asked, "Isn't she sleeping?"

"No," the Professor said. "I assumed she had come up to eat breakfast..."

Jean frowned, wondering how Rogue was. "Maybe she just needs some time to...think," she said softly. She projected to the Professor, _People have changed while you were gone. Rogue is not the same_.

The Professor looked at her with a worried frown, _But she is physically healthy. Has something caused her mental trauma?_

_No, nothing like that...not that I know of anyway. It was more...a change of heart, I think. She needs time to sort stuff out._

The Professor nodded and returned his attention to the other students. "Where are our Acolyte guests?"

"Gone to visit Gambit."

"Then they shall be informed later. In the meantime, there is much that you have yet to know, my X-Men. I suppose I should begin on the night we arrived in Austria. Everything seemed as well as could be, but as we finally met Armand..."

----------------

Such mornings were rare experiences for her. Mornings, in general, were things to be loathed and she would never have seen them if daily life didn't demand getting up at seven every day. But as she ventured outside during the sunrise, she saw that this morning was pretty. This morning gave her a strange solace. The horizon was awake with azure softness, the sun already returned from its nightly escapade. It was so bright, its warmth so imminent, that Rogue could not believe she was in the same place. The star's rays glittered off the ocean waters with such diurnal luminesence--it was almost magic. A fantasy of ethereal light.

The morning was such a contrast to the night she last spent at the gazebo. She recalled the frozen cold, the creeping darkness seeming to pull her very soul towards perdition. Never again did she want to feel that sort of despair; never again did she want to feel so alone. She laughed at the irony--wasn't solitude the very thing she had needed, wanted? But things were different now, things had been forever changed and it frightened her beyond excitement. Yet, here she was, sitting upon the cliffside, alone and brooding.

There was no rational reason to brood: the Professor, Logan, and Storm had returned; the X-Men were all revived; the psyches were at last granting her peace; she could touch... Her eyes fell to her hands, black and fuzzy from the gloves that covered them. It was an unnecessary precaution, she knew, but it didn't stop making her feel better. She wasn't ready for anyone to know, not yet. Things were complicated enough without people bombarding her with questions. She was still trying to figure out how things had worked out so well. Life was riddled with pain and doubt; life was not supposed to be so...good.

Rogue pulled her knees to her chest as a cool summer breeze ruffled her hair. She was still dressed in Med Bay scrubs, a flimsy white robe wrapped around her slender form. Everything was good; everyone was fine.

Remy was fine.

Rogue bit her lip.

Annabel was dead. Innocent, young Annabel who had her life stolen, who never knew the pleasures existence could offer. Rogue felt the familiar burn of tears behind her eyes, the irritation in her nose. She sniffed and rubbed her eyes, trying to forget all that had happened.

Images floated about her tranquil mind, commingling and intermixing. The white nightgown whipping against her frailness... Black curls twirling in the gusts, crystal eyes sad and penitent. But then those glacial orbs disappeared, morphed into a pair of rich, gold-speckled brown. And they were frightened, frightened and pleading, but knowing doom. The eyes suddenly belonged to a face. A girl of soft complexion and flushed cheeks--from exhiliration? Excitement? Fear? Fear. Beautiful in blossoming womanhood. But she was sad, a look of betrayal in those creamy coffee eyes... She was whimpering, couldn't scream properly because...

"Rogue?"

A gag around her mouth. She looked so frightened. I should have helped her.

"Hey, kiddo."

I could have done something. I should have saved her!

"Rogue!"

Rogue jerked her head in the direction of the voice and did not bother to plaster a fake smile on her face. "Hey," she muttered and turned her gaze back to the horizon. She was still disturbed by the memories. Memories she knew did not belong to her. In the intensity of the moment, she had not stopped to fully analyze what she had absorbed. Her ignorance had not made it go away.

Logan rubbed his knuckles as he spoke, "You want to talk about it?"

Rogue turned back towards the sea. "Not really."

"Well, tough, I do. What happened while we were gone, Stripes?"

Rogue could have smiled at his blasé manner of interrogation. Instead, her eyelids drooped and she murmured, "Lots of stuff. Ah'm a little confused about...it all."

"That got something to do with the gunshot Cajun?"

She grimaced, wished Logan would be gentler with his wording. "Maybe."

Logan stood, a stout figure of muscle and impatience. After a few seconds he seemed to deflate as he released a sigh. He sat down on the bench across from Rogue and rested his elbows on his knees. "Lots of crazy shit's been happening, kiddo. Don't know if anybody's told you, but Farrat's men were trying to ship the X-Men out of here--"

Rogue's head snapped up, her eyes piercing as she nearly shouted, "What?"

Logan patiently explained the situation. "I went to check out that Jersey City sector where you were supposed to be dropped off," he growled, "but there was nothing there. All I found were abandoned buildings. Bastard was smart, runnin' off before we even knew about him."

_My debt will be repaid and you...finally meet your greatest admirer._ Memories. _They're not real, Rogue. _Not hers. Coffee eyes. Golden-streaked coffee eyes.

Rogue gripped the sides of her head. There was no pain, no voices, but she thought it might make her feel better anyway.

Logan noticed the action, related it to previous instances when Rogue was suffering under the infliction of various psyches. "You okay? Maybe the Professor can--"

"No," Rogue said, "Ah'm fine. Just...Farrat said on the plane--while Gambit and Ah were trapped--that he was taking me to someone, someone he called my 'greatest admirer'. Ya think it's the same guy who tried taking the X-Men? He would have used Farrat's guys..." She bit her lip.

"No way to tell now," came Logan's grave reply. "What would they want with you?"

"You expect me to know?"

"Did Farrat give a name, description?"

Rogue shook her head. She suddenly wanted to know everything that had transpired since she got back. She hadn't spoken to anyone since waking up, didn't even leave a note as she left the mansion that morning. Almost immediately after, a wave of lethargia washed over her. The past weeks had been so full of fear, struggle, and foreboding that all she wanted was some peace. Let the others deal with the problems X-Men would never be rid of.

_Because it'll never stop,_ Rogue thought. _All this fighting, all this trouble..._

"You talk to Hank on the way out?"

She shook her head.

Logan growled in disapproval. He stood, waving for her to follow. "We'll discuss this later with the Professor. You should get back to the Med Bay to make sure you're really all right. Then you've got some real explaninin' to do."

Rogue slowly stood, feeling an ache in her muscles similar to ones after strenuous Danger Room sessions. Her feet languidly carried her after Logan, her lips silent and unmoving. Logan did not disturb her pensive silence. Though he would rather not show it, he was very worried about what exactly she had been through. A girl shouldn't have to deal with so much crap.

They walked the long way, around the crash area, and saw the jet still cushioned in its spot of mangled trees and brush. The thin strip of woods separating the gazebo cliffside from the mansion was almost completely torn apart. Many of the trees would need to be replanted after the rubble was cleared.

"You pulled some crazy stunts, kid," Logan said as they came around to the front of the mansion. "From what Roberto, Jubilee, and Ray tell us..." He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, sensed an almost disturbing sort of weariness, an apphrensive melancholy. He did not know what was troubling her, but he decided if it was the Cajun's doing, he would personally enact some retribution.

Rogue's head suddenly snapped up from its stubborn slant towards the ground. She slowly turned around, eyes searching the wide expanse of front yard.

A single yellow cab rolled through the non-existent front gates. The bright morning sun reflected off its color, causing the vehicle to shine with brilliant metallic sheen. As the cab winded its way up the driveway, circumvented the round-a-bout, and stopped at the Institute steps, Rogue could not help thinking it was some vermillion beacon of hope.

The backdoor clicked open and a petite brunette stepped out of the car. "Thank you!" she told the driver.

More doors opened, more people stepped out.

Rogue stood frozen in a sort of dubious stupor. She knew all their faces, could imagine their voices, their laughter, and even their bickering. It had felt like such a long, long time since she had last seen them... She would have cried from delight if she was the type to.

Kitty met her with a bright smile, her eyes lighting up as though seeing a long-lost friend. "We're back!" she exclaimed and threw her arms around Rogue in a cheerful hug.

"Hell yeah, and it sure feels good!" Bobby Drake exclaimed. "It's so boring at home without people to prank."

Rogue blinked away her intial shock and smiled, "There's ya parents."

"Well, yeah, but they can ground me so that's out of the question." He smirked and began pulling luggage out of the trunk. "Oh, yeah, thanks for all the help, Kitty. You're a real trooper." He handed Sam Guthrie one of her many bags.

Kitty rolled her eyes as she clung to Rogue's arm. "You're always bragging about those muscles, Bobster--use 'em."

Logan greeted the boys with rather hard slaps on the back, "Way to make an entrance. Too much trouble to call?"

"Hey," Sam said, "the only surpises people like are good ones." He tossed Logan two heavy suitcases. "So, uh, something go down here or did you guys hire a bad exterior decorator?"

Logan headed up the front steps as he huffed, "Wait till you see the backyard."

Rogue sighed, a strange relief gracing her tense muscles. "How are you doing?" she asked Kitty. A sliver of that night's frightened despair returned to her. She still remembered the sound of Mrs. Pryde's tight, anxious voice.

"I should be asking you," Kitty said. "I take it that, like, lots of crap's happened?" Her bright blue eyes frowned in concern.

Large blue eyes. Glacially icy. Dead.

Rogue clenched her eyes shut before opening them again. "To say the least," she murmured.

Sam tossed a wad of money into the taxi as payment for the ride. After receiving the money, the cab driver pulled his taxi away rather hastily. They heard the screech of his tires as the cab swerved around the street corner and disappeared from view. "Guess he's figured we're mutants," Bobby shrugged.

"Gee," Sam quipped, "you think it was Kitty phasing through the front seat or you freezing the door knob that gave it away?"

"Don't be such a hater," Bobby huffed. "So Rogue, place just die without us around or something?" He noted the damaged yard, the bits and pieces of debris from the crash littering parts of the lawn.

Rogue forced a laugh, "Heh, yeah. You could say that." As she followed them into the mansion, she asked, "Where are Jamie and Rahne?"

"Jamie's parents won't let him come back until they see the mansion back in high-security mode," Sam said. "And Rahne's awake but sleepy. She's still at that hospital in Queens."

The boys dropped the bags in the foyer and stretched their arms. "Whoa," Kitty said. They looked around at the rather disheveled area where bullet and plasma gun trails marked the walls and floors. Bobby suddenly noticed, "Rogue, what's up with the scrubs?"

She blinked and looked down, unsure of how to reply. Thankfully, she didn't have to. The chipped kitchen door flew open and the first X-Man out was Tabitha.

She stopped as if to test whether she was imagining things, then a great smile lit up her face. "We are so gonna have a homecoming party tonight!" she whooped, and practically tackled Sam and Bobby. She gave them each a smacking kiss on the cheek before moving on to squeeze Kitty in a tight hug.

One by one the X-Men filed into the foyer, greeting their long-absent friends with happy smiles and warm hugs. They forgot their worries and troubles in the excitement of the homecoming. It felt as though they had overcome something greatly harrowing, though none of them could truly understand just how close to doom they had all been.

Rogue understood. She stood to the side, glad that everyone was so excited by the return of Bobby, Sam, and Kitty that they didn't notice her. She slowly crept away from the main throng, was about to sneak away when, with a poof of smoke and sulfurous odor, her brother appeared out of nowhere.

"Rogue, you're awake!" He hugged her before she had time to yelp in surprise. "Vhy didn't you come to breakfast? The Professor told us everything that happened in Austria. You should hear it, man--"

"Not now, Kurt," she cut him off, rather shortly. Too many people were around. She didn't want to deal with prodding questions and suffocating interrogations. "Ah need ta get some air right now..."

"Vhat's wrong?" he asked with concern. "Are you feeling okay? Mr. McCoy didn't get a chance to tell us how you were--"

Rogue grated her teeth together, summoning patience with great difficulty. "Ah'm _fine._ Ah just need some time to think, okay? Go say hi to the others or somethin'."

Kurt stubbornly stood in her way when she tried to get past. "You're not telling me something," he frowned.

"Later," Rogue said and phased right through him.

Stunned beyond words, Kurt stared at her with wide eyes. His jaw dropped as he watched his sister disappear through the adjacent wall.


	30. Recovery

**Hey all**, I know I complain about this a lot but GOD, times are so _busy_. Seriously, there are moments when I feel like screaming even while I'm surrounded by people. But all my college apps are in, so I have to sit and wait for the replies. Ugh, that...ugh--just don't think about it! Right? At least I can do that bc I don't really have to do anything...whatever...

**This story is my escape**. --exhaling slowly-- **And just to let everybody know, it's not going to be over for a few chapters yet. **

**Ishandahalf:** Aren't we all suckers for the Rogue/Remy goodness...sigh...I'm thinking more on the sides of angst than fluff, but I don't want to make you nervous or anything. I keep forgetting you're a college student, must be a hell of a lot of work. Ugh, I don't even want to _think_ about it all! **Ms. Rogue LeBeau**: Have you been keeping up? It sort of hinted that Rogue has control of her powers, otherwise she wouldn't be able to touch or land the plane. It'll be explained later, though. The Romyness is very delayed. Gotta build up the angst, first! **Freak87:** I always wanted Jean to yell at Scott--something to actually shake up that freakishly perfect relationship. As for the scrubs, I must admit, I like scrubs--but Lance, Amara, and Scott are technically supposed to still be resting. Hmm, never really thought about making them change. **Assasinkitty:** hi there and thanks. Always nice to have a new reader. Hope you like this chapter. **X2P3: **I might not even do a summary of Rogue telling what happened--that'd be so redundant, b/c, well, duh, everybody who's read this already knows. Maybe I'll do it the way they do it in movies, cut the scene but the reader will still know what happened--get what I mean? Well, somehow it'll work out! Oh, and thanks. **Gothic Cajun: **Hmm, I don't recall a Mouse Cheddar, but glad she recommended me, too, haha. Really, gory? Hmm, bloody maybe, but I don't think it's too gory. **Flowerperson:** Oh, don't worry. I can't possibly kill off any X-Men at this point. Hmm, maybe in the sequel. My plans, well, can't disclose that information! **Sweety8587:** I forget what the Funky Chicken looks like...oh, wait, I remember now, and I'm picturing it and it's making me chortle....hahaha. I was wondering if there's even such a thing as exterior decorators when I wrote that in, hmm. Everybody wants the Romyness! Phew, it's tempting, but we must have some angstful suffering first. That's me. ;) **Flame31:** Keep reading. I think this story can still get better and it's far from being over. **Kendokao: **Scott's such a nice guy, he's so cute, he's so handsome, he's such a wonderfully talented and strong leader and I love him--gag. Omg, how funny it would be if I really believed all that! Imagine this story starring Scott, hahaha. I don't think telepaths can help being empathetic bc they're...telepathic, yes? Dunno... Yeah, hugs would be good. **Enchanted light:** thank you! Soon enough? Always four words, but I always have to reply. **Allie:** Oh, I've met some hollow people, girl, and you're not one of 'em--Lord, the empty-headedness people are capable of! Like my friend Maria--she has no soul, I swear. She's a robot. It's frightening. Oh, I'm so touched that you went through so much trouble to read my story! It's not necessary to do that, though. I'd be glad to personally email chapters to you if need be. **Fudgebrowne:** I'm just like you, love the sadness, love the trouble--why do you think I wrote this story the way I did? We're all a bunch of masochists. That's a wonderful word by the way. **Obsidian Hearts:** Cool penname, has a certain ring. What does WEHO stand for? **SickmindedSucker:** Man, you're very vivid, you know that? I guess that gives reason to your penname! LOL. But yeah, they're all back, but as you'll see, everything is not peachily wonderful. **Totally Obsessed47:** School takes up soooo much time, makes me want to quit. I remember the summer when I first started this fic--so nice, just mosying around, relaxing while taping away the story on this laptop. Sigh, the good ole days. Now it's rush rush rush! **Cd lover:** hmm, I was in the mood for a cookie, thanks. Not so sure about the X23 deal, haven't really thought about her much, but we'll see. There's always possibilities. And the Morlocks will receive mention. Now I just have to make a note of that before I forget... **Lady Godiva:** I am so touched that you found my story worthy enough to read it all through one sitting--that must have taken some effort! Your poor eyes...but I'm glad you think it's worth it. Thank you thank you thank you, you're too kind. Love your pen name by the way. Are you a fan of the chocolate? Never really experienced enough of it myself to make a sound judgment. **Possesser of the X Gene:** snappy pen name! I really like it. You know, I read your review way after the others and I was feeling quite down, but you seriously cheered me up, so thanks. I love the wows, I think they're a big reason. :-) You read the whole thing all at once, too? Wow, thanks for doing that. It's very long. Hope your eyes are okay. ;-) I try to make the characters stay true to character; I'm so sick of seeing people mess them up to a disgustingly cheesey degree. I do good to the accents, too, huh, never knew. Haha, not many liked the idea of Remy getting shot, but I did. Oops, that was evil, but hey, works perfect for my purposes. I'll have to check out Muse and their songs. I've been looking for soundtrack-ish songs to this fic. I mentioned the other mutants as a sort of sneakpeak at how they'll be involved in the sequel--Lorna, Trish Tilby--or maybe not. Hmm, I'll see. And oh God, please, I would insult interminably insult myself if I were to turn Rogue into a mopey, heart-broken little girl. I mean, _God_, she's one tough mutant, been through so much crap and still kicking, so _obviously_ her skin's thick enough to take whatever comes. I'm never going to make her turn into jelly in my fics, hell no. Workin' on that Sinister/Essex originality--I've seen it done to death in bad ways so I'm brainstorming. Have some interesting ideas so far. Check in often! **Queen Narca:** I know this was a belated update, hope I didn't keep you waiting _too_ long. But waiting makes the meeting sweeter, right? Probably not, I just made that up. **Anna Marie Raven:** funny, your name is Rogue's name, heh. Yeah, it's going to end soon, but we've got a few chapters yet. Old problems are solved and new ones are found. Check it out in this chapter.

----------------------------

"Agh, hate hospital settings. Can ye believe we've been snoozin' here for, what, a week? Blimey..."

Piotr stood at the foot of the bed, stern eyes watching as John fiddled with the equipment surrounding their sleeping friend. "I do not think you should be tampering with those things," he said.

John shrugged, "Always was curious how these gadgets worked. How's a little bleepin' line supposed to tell whether Gambit's heart ain't spasing out?" He scratched his head, nose wrinkled in contemplation.

Piotr rolled his eyes and continued perusing the room. He had never seen such state-of-the-art health care devices anywhere in his life. Russia sure lacked these luxuries. He sighed as his thoughts lingered upon home, upon a sister and family he had needed to leave. He would not have noticed the movement in his peripheral without the training from years of fighting. He turned around.

A young woman stood at the doorway, dressed in hospital attire and looking confused. Her stunning green eyes stared at Gambit, piercing and bewildered, sad and questioning. They snapped up suddenly, locked with Piotr's. Without a word she spun around, white-streaked auburn hair fluttering about a pale, porcelain face. Like a vision she was gone and Piotr frowned in confusion.

A groan sounded from the prostrated form.

"Sleeping Beauty's wakin' up!" John exclaimed.

Remy winced from the noise. His ears seemed uncannily susceptible to sound. Blips and clicks from the surrounding monitors vibrated loudly along his eardrums. When he tried to sit up, his limbs would not obey command. The weakness of his body fast became irksome.

John grabbed a chair and sat with his legs straddling the back support. "Feelin' woozy, mate?"

"He is heavily drugged," Piotr deduced. "Can you speak, Gambit?"

Remy struggled to adjust himself to the familiar, but unexpected surroundings. Finally he asked hoarsely, "Is she okay?"

Piotr thought of the power-stealing Rogue, though he didn't understand why. John shot him a confused look, "Who?"

Remy blinked. What did they mean _who?_ Who else? He suddenly realized where he was and to whom he was speaking. The events of the past few weeks slowly returned to him--the heist--Julien and the Assassins--the ghost--the Xavier Insitute--Farrat--Annabel-- Rogue. The very last thing he remembered from the plane was the gun aimed at Rogue and the sight of her sad, pleading green eyes. Pain, too. A lot of that.

"Sorry," he muttered groggily. He slowly, painfully, pulled himself to a sitting position. "Still haven't woken up from dis dream I'm havin'..."

John wiggled an eyebrow suggestively, "Ah, 'bout a sheila, mate? What's her name?"

"Can't remember."

"I think ye lyin'."

"That is not important," Piotr said, crossing his arms. "We should be discussing how it is you have managed to get yourself so injured _again, _Gambit."

"M'luck must be runnin' low dese days," he sighed. He grimaced when his movement stretched the wounded areas. Peering under his shirt, he caught the familiar sight of red-splotched white bandages.

Piotr scoffed, "If anything you have more luck than you probably should, how you always manage to test it. John and I have been waiting patiently here of you to awake so you can--"

"Tin Can, ye gotta learn to cut to the chase," John interrupted. "What's the beef, Gumbo--why do I have lil' memories of some freaky sheila floating around my head?"

"S'a long story," Remy said. He really did not feel up to explaining. For the moment the story seemed too complex for him to comprehend, even if he had been at the heart of it all.

"Ye ain't goin' anywhere."

Guttural throat clearing sounded behind them. Piotr and John turned towards the doorway and saw a massive blue-furred doctor with a raised eyebrow.

"De good ole' McCoy," Remy said and leaned back into the pillows.

Hank entered the room carrying a clipboard. "It's nice to see that Remy has caring friends, but he needs to rest."

"We're just talkin'," John rolled his eyes. "How much energy does he need to--"

"Apologies, Doctor," Pitor said. He grabbed John by the collar and tugged him towards the door. "We'll return later, Gambit." He dragged his squirming companion from the patient area and out of the Med Bay.

An uncharacteristic smirk played across Hank's face as he began the usual routine of checking vital signs. "It has been quite interesting seeing the students' reaction to the presence of your friends," he said.

Remy laughed dryly, "I can believe dat."

"Up, please," Hank said.

Remy lifted his arm slightly as the polyester cuff was wrapped around his bicep. The cuff swelled with air and he felt the pressure building to mild discomfort.

"The surgery went well, as you can probably see," Hank said. He recorded the blood pressure and unwrapped the cuff. Putting away the materials, he added, "However, since these are bullet wounds, you'll most likely be feeling an increase of pain once the morphine wears off."

Remy grimaced.

"But not to worry. I have plenty of Vicodin on hand for your dispense."

"Nice t'know y'such a willin' supplier o'narcotics, Doc."

Hank frowned heavily with disapproval, "Drug addictions are no joking matter, Mr. LeBeau." Then he shrugged and smiled pleasantly, "Still, it is good to see that you're not too wounded to crack jokes."

"Sense o'humor's all I got," Remy sighed. He had meant to sound light-hearted, but the words landed flat on his tongue. It had been nice to wake up to Piotr's stern placidity and John's loony wits--still, he felt rather...forgotten.

"I am sure you have more than that," Hank said. He continued reading monitors and scribbling notes while Remy sat brooding. "For instance," he said after a few moments, "you seemed to have gained some of the students' favor."

"Quoi?" Remy frowned curiously.

"Why, as Jean and Kurt relayed their traumas to us, they spoke rather highly of you." Hank adjusted the IV drip and said, "Your presence aided the situation, it seems." He smiled optimistically, "Not to mention Rogue. Roberto and Ray informed us that upon finding her, the first thing she said was 'help him'. I take that to be you?" He stopped to jot a few more figures onto the clipboard. He then switched off the head monitor and pulled the nose tube out of Remy's nostrils. "It seems you've gained a devoted friend."

Remy only nodded, tried not to feel so touched. "How is she by de way?"

"Perfect physical health from what I can tell."

"Meaning she ain't okay otherwise?" Worry etched at his insides. Annabel was a telepath--did something happen during his blackout?

Hank pressed the eraser of his pencil to his furry chin. "Rogue never was an excessively sociable girl. Sad, really--she has much to offer. But she's been rather reclusive this morning, more so than usual. I assume it is because Annabel Velkonnen suffered such an untimely death."

Remy felt like somebody just socked him in the gut. "Annabel died? How?"

"Suicide. She leapt out of the plane." Hank shook his head lamentably. "At least, that's what has been deduced. We'll have more concrete information once Rogue is willing to talk about it. I'm very concerned about her. She is not one to become sentimental...but this has affected her more than I would have predicted."

"She'll be fine," Remy assured him, not completely believing the words himself.

"Oh, I have no doubt of that," Hank said. "I only wonder at what cost."

Remy frowned.

"In the past she's been reluctant to ask for help, even when she knows she needs it," Hank shook his head again. "Oh, but let's not dwell on these issues. It does not feel appropriate to be discussing Rogue in her absence."

Remy nodded. Now, more than ever, he was worried about what happened. Dieu, Annabel had jumped. She killed herself--but why? He remembered her angered sadness, her suffocating distress. Her desire to be free and to live was so strong that he could not believe she could throw it away. Unless... Unless she thought there was no hope.

"All o'dis sucks," he heard himself saying

The childish statement incited a chuckle for Hank. "Not everything is so bad. Time heals all wounds, after all." His expression then became serious, "Now, despite how I believe you will not listen I am going to tell you anyway: don't engage in any strenuous activities so soon after injury."

Remy smirked.

"I doubt your body would appreciate another Danger Room session at this point, especially since these are bullet wounds." Hank raised his eyebrow knowingly. "Post-surgery, Remy. It's a big deal."

"'Course, Doc."

Hank nodded, "Well then, I will leave you to recuperate." As he turned towards the door, he tossed over his shoulder, "It seems you've managed to weasle yourself more time here at the Institute, Mr. LeBeau."

"What can I say, love de pamperin'."

Hank chuckled, "Yes, and besides, I am certain no one would even mind a prolonged residence." He walked through the automated glass doors and disappeared into his office. Remy was left with much to think about.

----------------

She paced the dark and quiet lounge, wracked with indecision. He was there, she knew, but whether she should go see him, she could not resolve.

The Med Bay was presently devoid of people, a stark contrast to its previous bustling atmosphere. Her footsteps seemed to echo along the shadowed walls, a cacophonous discord to her sensitive ears. Every few minutes she would walk towards the glass doors then turn around and back away, only to approach them again. Why was it so hard? She had no reason to be nervous. Things were fine between them, the last time she checked. She was being over-dramatic. Or maybe she wasn't being dramatic enough.

She growled irritably. Worrying so much sure could make a girl ornery.

The door to Hank's office opened and he stepped out, adjusting the spectacles on his nose. He gave a start, "Why, hello. Pacing about in the dark, are we?" He smiled pleasantly and switched on the lights.

"Oh, didn't realize it was..." She smiled sheepishly.

"How are you feeling?" Hank asked.

"Fine..." Her eyes flicked involuntarily towards the doors. "Mr. McCoy, how is he?"

Hank stared at her blankly, unsure of whom she was referring to. Then his eyebrows shot up and he nodded, "Ah, yes, the resting patient. He's weak but speedily recovering."

She nodded, "That's good."

"Would you like to see him?" Hank ushered her towards the doors. "He'll be glad for your company." Waving her off encouragingly, he turned and left the Med Bay.

She was alone again. Forcing her reluctant feet to move, she was one step closer to him with each passing second. God, if only she would stop being so nervous! She was usually more confident, but it was always the same thing around him...quickened heartbeats, easy blushes, jittery nerves. She mashed her lips together in frustration. The rationale behind her unease was nonexistant. There was no reason to behave differently. No reason at all.

But he could have died.

The thought alone sent unwelcome chills up her spine. It upset her beyond words to think she might never see him again. He could have died. She could be attending his funeral this very moment, wracked with sobs and blinded from tears...

_Oh, stop it_, she snapped at herself.

She was upon him before she even realized it. Standing two feet away from his bed, her vocal cords froze and she did not know how to greet him. Immediately, she wished she had brought something--food, coffee, or maybe cookies. She almost laughed at the thought while she began to fidget.

His back was to her, sitting with his legs dangling over the side of the bed. He seemed in deep concentration, tying the cords of his robe.

She found her voice after immense concentration, "Hi." Quickened heartbeats, easy blushes, jittery nerves.

Surprised, Lance spun around. His eyes widened at seeing her and he quickly looked down. "Oh--hi, I'm just..." Tying a knot suddenly became very difficult. His fingers got stuck and he untied the entire thing to start over. As he attacked the loops, his face turned a slight shade of pink. Finally he just gave up and let his hands rest on his knees.

Kitty subtly fiddled with the hem of her blouse. "Um...how are you?" she asked.

"Fine...you?"

"Fine." Maybe it hadn't been a good idea to see him so soon.

Lance refused to meet her gaze. He continued to sit with his back to her, turning his head to acknowledge her presence. He blew some hair out of his eyes and scratched his arm.

Kitty wanted to curl into a ball and disappear. She could not figure out why things were so awkward. Sure, they hadn't exactly broken up on good terms but it had been a mutual decision. No hard feelings--at least, there shouldn't have been. "I..." What was she was going to say? God, this was awful. "Uh, Wanda got a call from Pietro a few minutes ago."

Lance almost looked at her, "Yeah? Funny, I didn't even think of them when I woke up. Where they been?"

"They skipped town after you were, like...attacked," Kitty carefully phrased. "But they'll be back in maybe a couple days."

"Some friends," Lance huffed. "I think I get why the X-Men always win the battles."

"It was pretty scary, what was happening. They were probably just too spooked."

"You guys were scared, but none of you bailed."

Kitty huffed, "No, we were just dragged away by our parents." She was still slightly bitter about it, remembering the arguments she'd had with her mother and father. Then the night came when it was her turn. She shivered though the memory was faded and worn, like a newspaper with blotched ink and illegible words.

"Did it happen to you, too?" Lance asked quietly.

Kitty nodded, "But I don't, like, remember much of it."

"Me neither. I mean, I was just watching TV when, I think, this smoky thing came out of it like in that one movie? With the hair all over her face and kind of...I don't know. I just remember my head hurt a hell of a lot."

"Me, too."

Silence. Kitty bit the inside of her cheek. She wanted him to say something sincere, something to show that he cared. He was being so strangely indifferent, almost like he was annoyed that she disturbed him. Suddenly, she couldn't take the tension anymore and blurted, "Listen, I know we broke off kinda bad, but I don't want to be all, like, cold and awkward around you. We should just...I don't know...we..." She lost her steam, forgot what her point even was in the first place.

Lance remained silent and unmoving. He stared placidly at the floor.

_Jerk,_ Kitty wanted to say, but thought better of it. "Okay...well, just wanted to see how you were..." She turned to leave. After going four paces, she heard him say something. She turned around half-way, watching him in her peripheral.

Lance frowned, glowered at his hands. "I'm sorry I disappointed you, Kitty."

She didn't know how to react.

"It's...not easy for some people to...change."

She nodded, "I know. And it's okay."

"Was good while it lasted, though," Lance said. He finally met her gaze, one corner of his mouth curling up half-heartedly.

Kitty could only manage a contrite smile. "Yeah," she agreed. The blue of her eyes clouded over with memories. Blinking, she shook her head and looked at him. "Well, guess I'll, like, see you around, Lance."

"Yeah, see you around."

Kitty's feet carried her reluctantly away. She walked in a placid daze, knowing nothing cataclysmic had happened but feeling as if her emotions had been put to their limits. Part of her wanted him to stay at the Institute and never leave; part of her wanted to be with him again. But even as such fantasies crossed her mind, she knew them to be impractical. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be.

Once she was out of the Med Bay, she could breathe easier. Life would go on after Lance left. In the meantime, she was going to need a lot of activity to keep her mind occupied. Kitty rubbed her eyes and tightened her ponytail. Heading down the hall, she went to find the others.

------------

Ororo set the phone in its cradle with a sort of gentle benevolence. A smile lit her cocoa-colored face as she sat upon the living room couch. She lifted a cup of tea to her berry-red lips and drew a dainty sip.

"The verdict?" Xavier asked.

"Rahne's parents are bringing her back tomorrow," Ororo informed him. "I have managed to convince them that she will receive the best, most personal care here at the Institute. They say she is very weak but the doctors have no reason to believe she won't recover to full health.

"Jamie's parents remain implacable. They're rather paranoid about the security of our school." She lowered her eyes and drank more tea.

Xavier sighed. Logan huffed, "They should be."

"Something troubling you?" Ororo asked.

"What isn't?"

Ororo paused for a moment, blinked. "I suppose there are many things to trouble us... But there are also many things to comfort us." She stood from the couch and approached the ceiling-to-floor window. From that vantage point came a perfect view of the backyard. Moving about the twigs and bramble of broken flora, the students worked to clear away the crash-landed jet. "Our X-Men have more than proven themselves these past few weeks."

"Indeed," Xavier said. He massaged his temples, eyes closed in deep thought. When he opened them he turned to Logan and asked, "Has Rogue said anything to you, about what happened?"

"Said that she didn't want to talk about it," Logan muttered. He rubbed his knuckles out of habit. "Must've been something big for her to shut everything out again."

"Yes, Rogue prides herself in strength and tenacity," Xavier said, thinking back to times when the girl took much of her own initiative, when she never asked for help even when she most needed it. "I would not be surprised if she were to keep everything in for the sake of making everyone else think all is well."

Logan began cracking his knuckles. "It's that _Cajun_. He's got something to do with all this."

"Without a doubt," Xavier agreed, "though I believe it's safer to say he had a more positive than negative impact."

"Why you think that, Chuck?"

"A feeling and a hint," Xavier replied, thinking of Jean's previous words. "We will summon Rogue in due time. Meanwhile, it would be gracious of us to aid the students in clean-up."

Ororo nodded, setting down her tea. "Lead the way, Charles."

----------------

It was one of those summer days described in books, ones with crisply fresh breezes and golden solar rays, pure azure skies and bubbly avian chortles. The beauty of the day heavily contrasted the havoc of the plane crash. Admist tattered bushes and uprooted trees, the students of the Xavier Institute utilized their mutant abilities to clear the wreckage. Tabitha shot up from her kneeling position near the broken left wing. "Fire in the hole!" she shouted, sprinting away from close proximity.

Forewarned, everyone took cover. Not twenty seconds later, a loud explosion shook the trees as Tabitha's cherry bombs exploded. The chaotic jumble of sheered metal and twisted branches blew apart into moveable chunks. As the smoke cleared and debris ceased showering, the X-Men continued the excavation. Roberto stood atop the jet's cockpit, soaking up solar energy. As he resumed his fiery demonic form, he darted to ground level and did much of the heavy lifting alongside Hank; Kurt ported here and there, carrying away debris and garbage quicker than anybody; mangled branches and jagged shards of metal floated about the air, lifted by Jean's telepathy; Kitty phased Wanda and Jubilee into the interior of the jet, coming back out with any salvageable supplies; Logan sliced away sheets of the craft to be carried away by Storm; Sam, Bobby, and Ray had all gone shirtless from the waist up as they worked, the sun beating upon their strong, youthful bodies.

Amara and Scott stood outside of the work site boundaries. Since Hank would not allow them strenuous physical exertion, they settled with transporting the recyclable materials by way of pull wagons and carts.

"You know," Amara said as she watched her friends work, "I never realized how hot those three can look."

Scott raised an eyebrow at her, "Sam, Bobby, and Ray?"

"Yeah! I mean, jeez, look at them!" Amara nearly gushed. "They're so lean and tanned you'd never think they've spent all this time in comas."

Scott cleared his throat and re-positioned the thick sheet of reinforced aluminum on the cart. "That's nice, Amara, now why don't you help me push this inside--"

"Oh, you're not that weak, Scott," the girl said, eyes still glued on her teammates. "Push it in yourself."

Bobby noticed Amara's admiring gaze and flashed her a charming smile, a flirty wink.

She blushed and Scott rolled his eyes.

Kitty approached just then, Wanda and Jubilee trailing behind. Each girl carried an armload of reusable equipment: parachutes, oxygen masks, seat cushions, vomit bags, ect cetera. "And to think that all this stuff would've, like, gone to waste if we didn't pick it up," Kitty said. She and the others dumped their findings into the boxes on the cart.

"Are you really going to reuse all this junk?" Wanda asked.

Scott nodded, "Absolutely. There isn't a more efficient way to get rid of this mess. And besides, we have to utilize all of our resources so we don't waste anything that may be potentially helpful. We can use the metal to repair our electronics, frayed wires, or even add broken parts to the heli-jet and X-jet if we wanted to. Plus..." He frowned, trailing off as he realized Wanda was no longer listening.

"Don't you think so?" Amara was saying to her. "I mean, they're probably not your type but..."

Wanda narrowed her eyes, a scarlet-nailed hand going to her chin. "No, I can see what you mean. And it sure as hell beats eyeing a skinny narcissist, a slobby pig, and a slimy toad."

Amara giggled at Wanda's wit while Scott rolled his eyes again. Kitty chuckled agreeably. Her gaiety ended when she caught a familiar figure standing near the patio door. Amara and Wanda continued discussing the boys while Scott attempted to get them back to work. Kitty slipped away unnoticed and entered the kitchen.

Rogue had moved from the glass door and was slowly heading out. "It's my mess," she said, "and other people are cleaning it up."

Kitty frowned, unsure of what to think about her comment. It seemed to have sprung from out of nowhere, unbidden and spontaneous. "What?" She followed her into the hall, through the doors of the darkened parlor. The curtains were drawn and the fireplace burned a low, ashy flame.

Rogue massaged her left temple as she lowered herself into a plush armchair. "My fault, my mistake," she mumbled. "Ah should have helped her. It's my fault. Ah should have done something..." She shook her head and grimaced. Her eyes suddenly focused, the vivid green almost brightening. "Kit--hey."

"Rogue, is everything okay?" Kitty asked. She approached with an expression of concern on her pleasant features, her blue eyes narrowed with worry.

"Annabel had eyes like yours," Rogue murmured. She looked at her gloved hands. "Except they were paler. Almost looked like ice...but she wasn't a cold person inside. Neither was her uncle. They were just...unlucky. Very, very unlucky."

Kitty knelt by the arm of the chair, hands resting upon the cushions. She tilted her head up towards Rogue in quiet attention.

"She shouldn't've died, Kit," Rogue said. An angry gleam flashed through her eyes for a moment, dissipating as she voiced her next thought, "It's not fair that she died. All she wanted was a life." Her words held latent pains, but her voice was frighteningly monotonous and void of emotion. "Ah should have helped her." She grimaced again, as if remembering something unpleasant. Squeezing her eyes shut, she muttered, "Ah could have stopped her from falling. Ah could have helped her... It's my mess. They shouldn't have to clean it up--it's my mess." She shook her head and exclaimed in exasperation, "Damn it! Ah can't tell them apart..."

Kitty gave a start, eyes widening, "Tell what apart? The memories, psyches? Are they bothering you again?"

Rogue stared at her, bewildered, "What? No--the psyches don't bother me anymore. They're not real. Ah have to remember they're not real...Annabel said so." She frowned, eyebrows scrunching with uncertainty. "But why...Ah don't understand...and Ah remember the girl--woman--whatever...Remy's memories...oh God..." She buried her face in her hands. "She fell..."

"Annabel?"

"So did Genny..."

Kitty lowered her voice to softer tones, "Who's Genny?"

Rogue's fingers slowly folded aside as she gazed at Kitty. Slowly, she shook her head.

"These are, like, Remy's memories?" Kitty asked, trying to make sense of Rogue's seemingly random babble.

Kitty wondered just how much had happened between Rogue and Gambit since she left. She remembered the cookie incident and the strange tension, but nothing to suggest anything more. "Did anything, like...new come up with you guys?"

Rogue seemed hesitant to say. When she spoke, her voice was heavy, "Yeah...he said...we..." She did not know how to tell Kitty. Subjects concerning her personal life had never aroused much discussion in the past--mainly because she didn't ever have much of a personal life to begin with. "Ah can touch," she suddenly blurted.

Kitty's eyes widened, "What??"

Slowly, Rogue slid the gloves off her hands. Her skin, pale and soft, seemed translucent in the weak lighting. She lifted her fingers and gently took hold of Kitty's hand. "Annabel did it," she said hoarsely. "Ah don't know how, but somehow she did it and now..." She withdrew her hands, pulled the gloves back on. "Now Ah'm confused."

Kitty quickly recovered from her initial shock. "My God, Rogue!" she gawked. "This is, like, it's so--it's so great! You can finally--I mean, wow! Why aren't you happy? It's what you've always wanted!"

Rogue shook her head, wishing things could be that simple.

The giddy excitement began to fade as Kitty watched her friend. Softly, she asked, "Why do you still wear gloves?" When a shrug replied, she continued to prod, "What exactly happened with Gambit?" She received no real answer, but Rogue's reaction provided all the necessary hints. Kitty observed the slight flush of her pale cheeks, the warm twinkle in her green eyes. She saw the infinitesimal curve of her mouth. "Did you guys...touch?"

Rogue did not reply, did not move, did not blink.

Kitty felt the beginnings of a smile pulling at her lips. "He kissed you," she said, with a soft, knowing tone. "Is it serious?"

Rogue suddenly released a dry laugh. "Serious?" she echoed incredulously. "How can anything be serious with me? Ah knew what she was thinking, what she was feelin', and Ah didn't care--Ah just used her..." She bit her lip, a hand going to her temple. "Ah used her...and when Ah was done, she paid for it. _She_ paid for it..." She frowned, furiously trying to make sense of the jumbled memories. It was difficult blocking out the emotions, the self-loathing, the yearning for unattainable penance.

Disliking the forlorn turn of conversation, Kitty could not help but feel slightly chafed. She had no idea what Rogue was talking about, and Rogue was more than unwilling to explain. Hadn't they just been talking about kissing and touch? Why couldn't they stick to the cheerful subjects? Drawing a breath, Kitty asked patiently, "Rogue, please, I have no idea what you're, like, talking about. Who is 'she' and what do Gambit's memories have to do with anything...." Her eyes widened in sudden realization, "Unless he did something to this Genny?"

Rogue's brow furrowed so deeply, Kitty began to think there had never been a more austere frown.

"What happened?" she asked quietly.

Without warning, Rogue jolted from her seat. "Ah gotta go," she said.

Kitty jumped back, climbing onto her feet. She grabbed Rogue's arm, "Hold on a sec! You haven't explained anything!"

"Why should Ah have to?" Rogue snapped, twisting her arm away.

Hurt by the malicious tone, Kitty took a step back. "You don't. I just thought...we're friends, Rogue. You can tell me what's bothering you." She squirmed slightly under Rogue's disparaging stare, wishing she would show more trust. "And I haven't been around for a while so...I thought you might wanna, like, talk..."

Rogue sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Ah know, Ah just...Ah don't really know what's going on myself."

"Maybe you should talk to Gambit."

Rogue cringed.

"Why not?" Kitty wanted to know.

"Because...Ah'm afraid of what he'll tell me."

Kitty remained silent, not knowing what to say. If Rogue was so afraid of facing the problem, it had to be a serious one. "What do you think he did?"

"Ah don't know," Rogue murmured. "Ah don't wanna know."

"Maybe you should," Kitty said. "Otherwise you'll keep wondering. Maybe it's not as bad you're thinking."

Rogue shook her head. Feelings did not lie. Memories did not lie.

"Just go see him," Kitty urged. "Please? I hate seeing you so, like, worried--and it might be for nothing." She crossed her arms stubbornly, "God, you must _really_ have it for him if you care _this_ much about a simple conversation."

Rogue narrowed her eyes.

"I mean, you never get all anxious about a guy. I even thought you were asexual for a while, the way you always brush boys off and shoot them poisonous glares and you never showed any interest in girls so--"

"Okay, Ah'll talk to him!" Rogue exclaimed in exasperation. "Just not yet."

Kitty's eyes twinkled subtly, "You really like him, don't you?" When Rogue said nothing she smiled, "That's so great. I _told _you he was interested. You guys make such a good couple. And now that you can touch--oh, I can't wait to tell everyone about your powers! You're in total control now, aren't you? Kurt was babbling about how you walked through a wall and stuff but I didn't believe him because you could never just use my powers whenever you felt like--"

"Ah don't want anyone to know."

Kitty's smile disappeare. "Why not?"

Rogue frowned at the floor. "Ah'm...not ready. Ah can handle you knowing, but if everyone did then Ah'd never have a moment's peace..." She saw the doubtful look in Kitty's eyes, the growing frown of uncertainty. "Just for now, okay?"

"Okay," Kitty conceded. "But they deserve to know."

"Yeah, just not right now," Rogue sighed. She rubbed her eyes and drew a deep breath.

Kitty moved towards the door, "I better get back. You coming?"

"Ah probably should but..."

"You don't want anyone bugging you about what happened," Kitty said. "Just stay here then, relax, but don't brood over all this. Promise?"

"Sure."

Kitty looked at her dubiously. She hesitated to leave, feeling like she should stay and talk to her more. "I'll see you later then," she finally said, knowing very well the boys would be on her case if she didn't get back to clean-up.

"Later." Rogue heard the door close. She settled back into the armchair and stared at the glowing ashes of the fireplace. They reminded her of Remy's eyes, how they simmered with amorous warmth, with gentle understanding. A warm tingle traversed her limbs at the mere thought of him. It had been such a comfort to lie beside him last night, to sleep and feel the rise and fall of his chest, the steady intervals of his breath. Lost in her bittersweet reverie, Rogue forgot what had been troubling her. But with the cunning of a thief, Annabel's parting words returned to her consciousness: _Don't judge him by his mistakes. Don't throw away what you have because of the past._

What did Remy do? Who was Genny? How did he use her? Why did she fall? Where? When? Rogue bit her lip. The memories, the feelings, the guilt and self-contempt--all were Remy's and it scared her beyond words to wonder the cause of it all. She had to talk to him before it drove her mad.

Rising from her seat, she moved towards the door. Her hand hovered above the doorknob. Maybe it didn't matter what Remy had done. The past was the past after all. Had Annabel not given her sagacious advice? Gritting her teeth together, Rogue threw open the door and stormed into the hall. She had to know. No matter what would happen, she had to know.

-------------------------------------

**Hmmm, seems like there was too much angst** here....but oh well. It had to do it to make everybody see how tense it's become around here. I usually get a **feel** about the chapters and the one I'm getting for this one isn't very impressive--but the upcoming ones are so just hold on, it's on its way.

**Review!** I love reading your replies.


	31. Omen

**I've been annoyed since Thanksgiving** because was tweaking out or something, not letting ppl upload. Since this chapter was already delayed _enough_, you can imagine the irritation. Anyway, here it is, belated but present.

**We're getting really close to the end, though**--wow. That's so exciting. I really cannot believe how I've kept up with this for so long...wow. It's been really fun, a good experience, and as cliche and cheesey as it sounds, I really have learned something. There's a reason writing is one of the humanities, yeah?

Anyway, it's winding down and I'm getting incredibly eager for the conclusion!

**Random Sidenote**: I can't remember who it was that turned me onto **Muse** but I totally agree about how the music works with this fic! So thanks.

If there's anybody else who had good music to recommend, well, recommend it.

**Ishandahalf:** I am beginning to notice an interesting trend. I think you are usually the first person to review on the chapters! Funny, that. Oh, yes, I am the angst-loving masochist of us all...so what does that say about Rogue and Gambit? Well, you'll see. **Totally Obsessed47:** Romyless chapters are an issue. And for the sequel, I don't know how I'm going to manage it...hmm, the dilemmas. **CatStar14:** Wasn't that little Lance/Kitty thing sweet? I've been planning to put that in since Chapter 13 or something like that. **Freak87:** Piotr only received a little cameo-ish sorta thing. But getting into his whole family does sound intriguing...maybe the sequel. I just had to do the tricky thing--wonder how many were fooled? It really never occurred to me for them to change clothes--just one of those things were you're supposed to go "Oh, well, it's just a story" like when you see a plot hole and you go, "Oh, well it's a movie". You know? Eventually--ha--that's like never to Rogue. **Shockgoddess: **Don't you remember? She's touched him many times before but back in that chapter titled "Love In Vain" she absorbed him a little before and got some stuff--only it's just resurfacing now because it's convenient for my story ;-) I'm allowed to do that you know. And I don't mind the long reviews--I prefer them! My vocab's good, huh? Funny, I hardly even notice. Maybe I'm better than I thought. And you'll just have to wait and see what happens with Rogue, Remy, and the memories. I think I read the Remy doped up thing somewhere too, hmm... **Sweety8587:** Haha, sorry about being tricky with the Lance/Kitty thing--well, no I'm not really. Ha, but it was fun yes? **DreamSprite:** You've been reading since _one_ and you haven't reviewed once?? Please, review more often, Sprite! I like to know who's reading--gives me some sort of twisted sense of community. But, hey, glad you're enjoying the "show". **X2P3:** Summary? I can't remember if I wrote one. Oh, well. Hope you're getting what's going down in the story. Hope this wasn't too late--I know I've been getting more and more delayed these days. **SCaliGirlHK:** hi there--that good huh? I like the whole capital letters thing--shows enthusiasm. I'll try to keep it up, pretty sure it'll be good. I have high standards. **Flowerperson:** Yep, I was wonder who'd catch that. I just stuck the whole "Ring" movie thing in randomly--call it a whim. Rocks like an electric guitar? Ohhh--hahahaha, I _just_ got that. You're funny and nah, not too cheesey, especially when you know it's cheesey. Haha. **Possessor of the X Gene:** Are you British? I always thought only English people said "smashing"--just curious. I agree with the angst theory. Thank you for noticing all my little mentions in this story--they'll come into play in the future. I put _tons of stuff_, all these little clues and cameos--that will be used in the sequel (with which I am having incredible trouble coming up with a title for). Yes, it is Miss Darcenaux I'm reviewing to. Yeah, I thought that "Essex wanting Sinister" thing was a little off, but don't worry, I got what you meant. Proofread reviews? Nahhh... **Lady Godiva:** You don't know who Genevieve Darcenaux is? Oh, you should read up on some Gambit history otherwise this isn't going to make sense for you at all. I suggest going to under Cerebro Files and character golossary--look up Gambit, read his bio. Interesting history your name has--that _is_ a nice legend to think of though. Imagine riding around town with only your hair to cover you--the whistles, cat calls, and degrading behavior--ugh, our world is disgusting. **Fudgebrowne:** I think when you wrote "jerastic" you meant "drastic"--yep, I'm pretty sure. You need to know? Well, keep wondering. Haha, sorry, I'm so evil! **Plague-darkholme:** What?? You're begging me not to bring Genny into it? Sorry hon, she's already in it. And really, there could never be enough angst when it comes to these two--their lives _is_ angst--wouldn't be them without angst--at least, that's what I think. Sit tight through the tension! **Allie:** Oh come on, it couldn't have been _that_ good. But if it is, keep thinking it's so! I like this chapter much better though. Rogue and Gambit actually get to be in the same room together for once. **Serena:** Oh, who likes waiting--sucks how we have to do it so much, huh. And now you have to wait for chapters to be uploaded....sigh, that's the way of life. I like this one much better than the last, so enjoy. **Kendokao:** I've been wanting to put a littke Kitty/Lance since the tens chapters--finally got that out of my system. And yeah, I had to bring up Genny--and it was completely spontaneous, too. Come to think of it, a LOT of this fic was random moments of bursts of ideas. Insane how the mind works. **Sanaria:** Oh, the best stress relief? That is probably the most meaningful compliment I've had about this story, since I _seriously_ know how stress can be. Talk about ugh. **Santos Black:** I can completely relate to you friend. I started the X-Men fic thingy this summer when I was grounded and had nothing better to amuse myself with--and I realized it wasn't as dorky and stupid as I first thought--well, at least not to me anymore. But yeah, got hooked on a few. There are some good ones out there--I judge by the number of reviews they've had. **Enchanted light:** why do I bother replying to you?? ;-) But hey, your consistency is wodnerful. **Browneyedimagination:** Hey, like your penname--it's unique. And thanks for the praise. I swear it never gets old. :-) I was afraid this fic wouldn't go well with readers but I'm glad everybody's enjoyed it so far. I hope I continue to satisfy! **Blackrougefillie:** You _did_ get the latest chapter right, 30 or something like that. I noticed your review was fr/ Chap 1 and that was a little confusing, but no matter.

* * *

"You have got to be kidding me," Sam huffed. He slapped the desktop and leaned back in his chair. "That guy's got lots of nerve."

Bobby turned towards the screen Sam had been watching. Incredulous expressions washed over his face upon seeing the images. "That really him?"

"Just as hairy, just as scary," Sam quipped.

Momentarily entrusted with security duty, the two boys had been lounging in the monitor room for the past hour and half, munching on snacks and swapping guy-tales. Nobody seemed to remember that the front gate was still blown apart; when the foreign, steel-encased van pulled up the Institute drive, both of them were more than little perplexed, even more so as the towering figure stepped out of the driver's side.

Bobby flicked the frequency switch that connected to the communicators all X-Men wore. Logan was the only one to keep his handy even while within the Institute. After a few seconds of static, his gruff voice mumbled, "What's up?"

"You're not going to believe this," Bobby said, "but Sabertooth's standing at our front door. And looks like he's ready to break it down."

"You pullin' somethin', Drake?" Logan's voice demanded, sounding no less intimidating through a radio.

"Not this time, sir. See so for yourself."

"You and Cannonboy meet me in the foyer." With a sharp click, Logan disconnected the link.

Bobby flicked off the radio. Turning to Sam, he said, "You heard the man."

Together they left the monitor room, slightly reluctant towards having to face the meanly savage Sabertooth. Of all their enemies he seemed to be the most unpredictable, the biggest wild card with a treacherous air. The fact that Logan hated him so much said something about the guy, and nobody really wanted to speculate why that might be.

Logan was already at the door when Sam and Bobby arrived. He looked freshly clean shaven, having just showered after an entire morning of extensive physical labor. By the expression on his face, Sam and Bobby could tell he was preparing to get his hands dirty again.

"He bring anything with him?"

Sam shook his head, "Just a van that he came in. Didn't look armed or anything."

"What's that bastard want," Logan muttered to himself. Grabbing hold of the door, he swung it open.

Bobby twitched despite himself. The sight of Sabertooth alone gave him the willies, though he would never admit it to anyone. He avoided staring directly into the feral eyes of that ferociously rough face.

Sabertooth sneered at them disparagingly.

Logan glared in calm anger, "What do you want, Creed?"

"I came to pick up the boys."

"What boys," Logan narrowed his eyes.

"The tin bucket and firebug, genius," Sabertooth snickered. "Last I remember, Gambit brought 'em here. You kept them alive?"

Logan huffed, "Like you give a damn."

"Never said I do," Sabertooth growled. "Just protecting my interests."

"Your interests disappeared along with your boss," Logan practically barked.

"If you had half a brain you'd know Magneto don't die that easy."

"If you had any sense you'd know Apocalypse ain't an amateur."

Sam and Bobby watched the exchange with growing unease. Both stood ready to use their powers, muscles tightening as the tension between Wolverine and Sabertooth mounted with each retort.

Sabertooth's sneer became more severe, the curve of his lip almost interfering with the droop of his nose. "I'm not in the mood for this," he spat. "Where're Colossus and Pyro?"

"Somebody call f'me?"

All eyes turned towards the top of the stairs as Pyro leapt onto the banister and slid all the way down. He landed on the floor sturdily, but just as he was about to regain balance, he swooned and toppled face flat on the floor. Bobby and Sam helped him up, but he swatted them away.

"Geroff," he protested. "I don't need help from you ninnies." Straightening the ruffled scrubs he still wore, he flashed Sabertooth a toothy grin. "What's with the house call, Cat?"

"You're gettin' back to the base."

"Why--boss man's gone."

"He'll be back."

Pyro raised a conspicuously orange eyebrow, "Sorry t'bust your bubble, mate, but Mags blew up when Apocalypse did him in. Ye holdin' onto false hopes."

Sabertooth released an irritated growl; Logan flexed his hands, eyes narrowing. "We don't know anything for sure yet," Sabertooth barked, eyeing Logan as he spoke to Pyro. "And till all this Apocalypse shit blows over, there's still stuff to take care of over at the base. Think it'll be good for us if business stops?"

Pyro scowled and waved away Sabertooth's rebuttal as a trifle. "I'm restin' up here. Crikey, can't wake up from a coma without some bloke breathing down ye neck." He massaged his head to coax away the wooziness. "Give it a few days."

"No," Sabertooth rumbled. "You've had enough time to lie on your ass. Go find Colossus and get the hell outta here."

Pyro noticeably bristled, "Last time I checked, you weren't the boss, mate."

"Last time I checked, you weren't an X-Man." Sabertooth bared his teeth as his lips fashioned a new type of ugly and malicious sneer.

Logan stepped in between the two, giving the feline man a firm push backwards. "He'll go when he wants, Creed."

Sabertooth's feral eyes flashed with aggravated fury. His nostrils flared, "They're not one of yours--they're Acolytes. They have places to be and things to do. Don't you, firebug?" He glared expectantly at Pyro. "Remember the project?"

Pyro groaned in annoyance while Logan, Sam, and Bobby shot suspicious glances at each other. "Bloody hell," Pyro spat. "Can't get a decent break 'round these parts..." Scartching his head, he turned in the direction of the Med Bay. "I'll go find ol' Piotr."

"Better find that Cajun, too. He's as much in this as we are." Sabertooth made to follow but with a _snikt_ Logan's claws extended inches before his face. "You ain't going anywhere," he said. "This mansion's not open to your perusin'. Sam, go alert everyone about our new visitor. Bobby, make sure Pyro doesn't pull anything."

"I ain't sittin' here for you to babysit," Sabertooth bit off. "Long's they get back to the base, I don't care how they do it." With a guttural huff, he turned widely on his heels and left the mansion with a twirl of ragged trench coat. The door slammed shot. Moments later, the revving of a large engine sounded, followed by fading tire squeals.

Sam scratched his head, "What was _that _all about?"

"A project," Bobby huffed. "What kinda project could those lackeys ever commit to?"

Despite the boys' mocking tones, Logan held a troubled expression on his face. He walked to the window to make certain of Sabertooth's egression. "I don't like the sound of this 'project'," he said.

"It's probably your everyday criminal plot," Bobby shrugged. "Larceny, illegal drugs, black market deals--the little things."

Logan missed the humor, his eyebrows furrowing even more deeply. "If Magneto was runnin' it, it isn't somethin' normal idiots would do. That old man's got some ambitious goals." He seemed to think he was over-pondering the issue and shook his head. "We'll deal with this later. You two go make sure Pyro ain't up to anything. We can't tell if Sabertooth comin' here wasn't some way to pass messages."

He watched Sam and Bobby leave to do his bidding, then looked out towards the front yard again. The present calm was rank with falsehood--a shroud over impending tribulations. Despite what everyone thought, despite how well all seemed, it wasn't. He sighed, knowing this dread would disappear soon enough; once he was distracted by more immediate encumbrances, he would forget all about this nagging premonition. But in the meantime, he worried. In the meantime, he could not help but think all that had happened was just the beginning.

-------------------

"How are you feeling?"

"Better, I s'pose."

"Enjoying the plethora of narcotics, are you?"

"Y'know, y'got a freakishly big vocab'lary for a Russian immigrant."

Piotr chuckled uncharacteristically, a smile breaking his stern expression. "What can I say, my friend. Attentive listening and hard work."

"Explains why y'always so quiet. Brain workin' overtime?"

"Of course. You should follow my example and give your body a break. No telling how much more maltreatment it can endure."

"Merde, y'jus' have t'bring dat up. I get 'nough scolding from de blue guy. As if these bulky bandages don' punish, too. Dey messin' m'style."

Piotr rolled his eyes.

Hidden within unlit corners of the Med Bay, Rogue smiled. Dim fluorescence erased light from Remy's room, but the rest of the medical center remained in near-complete darkness. Rogue was not sure how long she stood there. She had every bit of resolve on her stalk to the Med Bay, but once she reached the room and heard the voices, all of it crumbled. So she stood listening to Remy converse so cordially with his friend. It was a side of him she had never seen before. Somehow, she had imagined Remy was one not to keep friends; his thieving lifestyle was too precarious and required too much mobility. But when people shared that way of life, she supposed it inevitable to befriend them.

"...have been wondering something since this morning," Piotr was saying.

"'Bout what?"

"The stripe-haired X-Man, the one that steals the powers of others."

Rogue gave a start and nearly bumped the door. Heart pounding faster than necessary, her ears became ultra-sensitive to Piotr's every accented word.

"What you mean?" Remy asked. His ebony-crimson eyes narrowed with interest, not showing concern if he had any.

Piotr lifted an eyebrow in a shrugging motion. "Just that she was here while John and I were present. She did not greet us, or you for that matter, though I assume she came to see you. She had a strange expression on her face. Then with you so vaguely asking, 'Is she okay', well, I am 'putting two and two together', as you Americans are so fond of saying, and hopefully I have not come up with five."

"Was dere a question in dat impressive diatribe?"

Piotr sighed, "She looked...troubled. So I have to wonder if the lady's man has finally encountered something deeper than the pockets of his pants."

Remy released a curt breath of air, hoping it would deflect Piotr from detecting his lie, "Maybe, don' really know. M'not really on top o't'ings right now."

Piotr nodded though he didn't understand. The look on the girl's face was haunting and quiet honestly, had spooked him. "Well," he said, "I do not know how much longer these X-Men can stand us Acolytes in their home. The girls are constantly being harassed by John and I believe one of them will soon--"

"Ey, no trash-talkin' behind my back--whoa there!" John's footsteps came to a halt as he crashed into some body. "Didn't see ye there, sheila!"

Rogue stumbled into view, eyes stunned wide. She looked from John to Piotr and finally to Remy.

"Chere," he said, too surprised to smile or frown, not knowing which was appropriate.

Rogue could only stare at him. Finding her voice again she said, "Ah'll come back when you're not so...busy." She brushed past John to get away.

Remy received the strange feeling that she was avoiding him.

"What's with her?" John asked, throwing a thumb in Rogue's direction.

"Nothin'," Remy said. "What's up?"

"Cat came calling," John informed them. "We gotta get back to the base. You know, work to do." He stuck out his tongue and pointed a finger at his throat. "Gag."

"Is Creed still here?" Piotr asked.

"Dunno."

Piotr nodded, "Are you well enough to come with us, Gambit?"

Remy lowered his eyes in thought, trying to decide what he should do. "Can't say, but m'not sure I'll be going back wit' you guys."  
John and Piotr exchanged looks of surprise and bewilderment. "What?"

"My contract's up," Remy explained. "An' Magneto's out o'de picture. Why should I keep up wit' his dirty work?"

"Where else would you go?" Piotr asked. "What would you do?"

"I figure dat out later."

John raised an eyebrow at him, "This's got somethin' to do with that Rogue, don't it?"

Remy scowled.

"Ha, I knew it. That lil' moment ye guys had a second ago, gave it all away. What'd ye do this time to make the girl fall for ye?"

"Leave it alone," Remy groaned and tried not to let the question bug him. What _had_ he done to earn her affection? Did he ever even have it, or were the emotions that now confused him gone unrequitted? There was no other way to explain her strange behavior. He lay back into the pillows and rested an arm over his eyes.

Thankfully, Piotr was a good friend, and a very empathetic one. "Very well," he said. "John and I will return to the base. If you plan not to return, at least bid us some sort of farewell."

Remy smiled at him, "Wouldn't be right t'leave wit'out sayin' good-bye t'my pals, non?"

"Psh, ye serious about this," John said. "The sheila's gotten to ye head." Flashing Remy a parting smirk, he followed Piotr out of the Med Bay.

Remy watched them leave, wondering if he should follow. "Not an Acolyte anymore," he muttered to himself. "Not an X-Man, either." He could almost laugh at such an inconceivable notion. "Only a T'ief." The weight of obligation fell upon his shoulders at the reminder. It had been easy to forget about his former commitment in all this time at the Institute, in all this time with Rogue, but sooner or later it was going to catch up to him. The only real problem was figuring out how to tell her.

Minutes ticked away. A knock sounded at the doorway.

Remy looked up to see Hank smiling at him behind oblong spectacles. He pushed a wheelchair into the room and unfolded it at Remy's bedside. Remy gave him a questioning look.

"Yes, I know it is still very soon after surgery," Hank said, "but you've had the whole day to recuperate and, well, this has been long overdue."

"What has?"

"Answers," Hank said. "Answers to many questions. Would you like a robe?" He grabbed one from the closet.

Remy slowly slipped it on, careful about moving his pectoral muscles. Pushing aside the sheets, he eased his legs over the side of the bed.

"Easy does it now," Hank said. "Would you like some booties for your feet?" At the sour expression on Remy's face, he shrugged, "Perhaps not then." He held the chair steady as Remy lowered himself into it. "Good. Now we can be on our way."

Remy pulled the robe closer around himself as Hank directed him through the Med Bay. He eased back into the cushiony seat, noting that the X-Men even had top quality wheelchairs above all else. His hands rested softly clutched on his lap, his head nodded slightly forward. He watched the Med Bay disappear around him, slowly morph into the decor of a mansion hallway. Silence all around. Peaceful and quaint.

"Feelin' kind o'lame, Doc," he sighed.

Hank grinned, "Would you like to wheel yourself?"

"Dat's de sad part: if I did, it'd hurt."

Hank's grin grew into a chuckle.

Five minutes later they were heading down the second floor hallway, right towards the Professor's study at the end of the corridor. The door was ajar and Remy could hear snippets of a conversation as he drew nearer.

"...kinda personal stuff..."

"...feel better if he was here?"

"...not sure whether it'd do any..."

"...easier for you..."

Hank knocked and a prompt, "Come in" bade them entrance. Much to Remy's surprise, Rogue and the Professor were not the only ones present. Ororo sat in an armchair, hands neatly folded on her lap while Logan stood behind the Professor's desk, leaning against the window.

"Ah, finally," the Professor said with a pleasant smile. "How are you fairing, Remy?"

His glance first flicked in Rogue's direction, but quickly moved to the Professor when he saw she was staring at the floor. "Doin' good after bein' shot three times," he replied.

Ororo raised an eyebrow, Logan released a dry laugh, and the Professor blinked. "Well," the venerable telepath began, "I have to say this meeting has been long overdue. I believe it will be easiest if one of you would start telling us exacty what had transpired, from the beginning."

When neither Rogue nor Gambit spoke, the Professor cleared his throat. "Please, we would not ask if we didn't feel it was important to know. Somebody is targeting the X-Men and specifically seeking Rogue. We need all the available information so we are not always one-step behind a potentially harmful enemy."

Rogue closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. She remained silent, seemingly preoccupied with other thoughts.

Remy wondered if she was even listening to the Professor. After a few minutes of tense quiet, he finally spoke, "Not much t'say 'bout de stuff before all de X-Men were gone. Everybody was falling into comas." It all came back to him, a rush of unpleasant images and semblances of feelings. "Annabel Velkonnen," he began again, and noticed Rogue wince. "Her uncle, Theodore Farrat, was keepin' her in a coma so he could spend de money her Count father provided dem wit'..." And from that beginning, the entire story from his perspective poured out. It was surprising how easily he spoke of it; his vocal cords modulated sound to produce the appropriate words, almost without him having to think beforehand. He watched the listeners subconsciously, noting any raised eyebrows, saddened expressions, or shocked countenances.

Hank nodded when the words stopped, scratching his chin, "Astral projection. Since her physical body was disabled, she projected herself to feed. And only on mutants?"

"Dey're all she could touch," Remy confirmed.

"And that's why she didn't just drain Farrat," Logan growled, almost regretfully.

Remy suddenly remembered Callisto's angrily worried voice barking at him. "Spyke okay, by de way?" he asked nobody in particular, hoping somebody knew. He and Rogue had caused the Morlocks much unnecessary strife.

Ororo nodded, "Yes. I visited the Morlocks this afternoon. He has recovered from the coma, told me what happened in the sewers." She seemed rather worried, yet smiled despite it. "A few of them were injured, but they are otherwise fine."

"Good," Remy said. He looked at Rogue, watched for her reaction to knowing Spyke was okay. She continued staring into space. He wished she would just _glance_ at him. Why was she acting so peculiar? Did something happen that he failed to remember? Or did she simply cease caring? She could at least look concerned, angry, or annoyed--anything. The expressionless mask was heavily perturbing.

The Professor stared at his desktop, brow furrowed in thought as he digested the story. "Why did Annabel not seek our help?" he asked. "If only..."  
"She didn't t'ink anybody _could_ help," Remy said. "S'a sad story, but dere wasn' any way out of it for her."

"There was a way out. That's why she jumped."

All eyes turned to Rogue, whose sudden words had been chillingly cold and almost disdainful.

"Just jumped," she went on, eyes focused at some invisible thing on the floor, "like she didn't care, like the fight wasn't worth it. She gave up and jumped...and Ah'll never forget her sad eyes.... Pleading eyes."

Remy's ears perked. The statement seemed insignificant to everyone else but stirred a buried memory in himself. He did not want to remember it. Not here, not now.

"And she fell," Rogue continued. "She fell. And she died."

He searched her face for a clue. Who was she referring to now? It seemed impossible that she could possibly know what plagued him--but then again, she _had_ absorbed him. Maybe now his poison was just surfacing. Maybe now he would truly pay for what he had done.

"And Ah couldn't do anything to stop her. Ah should have helped her, but Ah didn't, 'cause Ah couldn't, 'cause..."

Which one was she talking about? Did she see all of his memories, feel all his feelings? The deed hadn't bothered him as much before. He had managed to lie so effectively to himself that it only seemed like a petty tragedy. Once he realized the true folly of it, however, oh, was he sorry.

"Rogue," the Professor finally said, "I know you're feeling at fault for Annabel's death, but try to understand that it was her decision and you--"

"Could've done nothing to stop it," Rogue cut him off. "That's what they always say. But truth is, Ah _could_ have done something--but Ah didn't. Ah watched her fall. _Watched_. She didn't want to die, she didn't deserve to die."

Who was she talking about, Remy was almost mad to know. His nerves grew more jittery by the second, his muscles taut. Nobody could tell how tense he was, but he had always been good at keeping a facade. He had always been good at fooling people, sometimes having them suffer because of him.

Without precedence, Rogue furiously shook her head. She rubbed her eyes and looked around the room as if surfacing from a trance. Drawing a breath, she said, "There's not a whole lot more to tell, unless ya want detailed descriptions of the action or something. Remy's..." For the first time during the entire meeting, she looked at him, but only for a fleeting second. it all."

"But we still don't know who the hell Farrat was workin' for," Logan reminded them. "He didn't want you, Stripes, some nameless freak does. One with red eyes and a shapeshiftin' sidekick. And he might be plannin' another attempt to snatch you."

Rogue shrugged nonchalantly, "Ah'll be ready if he does."

"Kid, I know you're tough, but you ain't invincible."

"Haven't Ah proven Ah can take care of myself?"

"And how were you able to do that so proficiently, Rogue?" the Professor asked suspiciously. "What Ray and Roberto described when you landed..."

Remy could hardly focus on the present subject. He stared continuously at Rogue, wishing he had some sort of telepathic ability so as to communicate privately with her. What do you know, chere? Are y'disgusted by it? Do y'hate me now? She seemed oblivious to him, arguing with Logan and the Professor.

"...give us a moment?" the Professor was saying. He settled Rogue with a level gaze and she looked blankly back at him. Her expression was almost exasperated.

When Hank took hold of the wheelchair, Remy did not protest. He couldn't help feeling resentful, despite the growing alarm in his mind. If this was the way she wanted to play it...

"Shall I take you back to the Med Bay?" Hank asked, once the door was closed to them.

Ororo and Logan were already walking down the hall together, talking in hushed voices.

Remy wondered just what they thought about everything, whether or not they believed his story. "Yeah, sure," he said to Hank. Then, as a side comment, "Dat meeting seemed a lil' pointless..."

Hank shrugged. "I'm sure the Professor just needed to know, so he could relay it to the other students. Everybody has been quite curious about how that jet landed in our backyard."

"Guess dey would be," Remy huffed. But they would never truly understand what he and Rogue had been through. Did he? Did she? He wasn't sure anymore.

---------------

"I thought you would feel more comfortable talking with less ears in the room," the Professor said.

Rogue crossed her arms. The Professor waited. Finally Rogue demanded, "What's there to talk about? Ya know everything now."

"This has obviously affected you a great deal, Rogue," the Professor said gently. "I am here to listen."

"What if Ah don't wanna share?"

"I think you do."

She closed her eyes, sighed, seemed to deflate in her chair. "Ah don't know what to think about it all. Ah can still feel it, Professor, what she was going through, what she felt when she was falling... She was so sad..." They were both so sad.

"You find the outcome of these events unjust," the Professor said. "And because Annabel was so like you, you have taken her choice to heart. People cope with things the only way they know how, Rogue, the only way they can."

"But she didn't have to jump!" Rogue exclaimed, eyes flashing angrily. "She gave up--just took the easy way out instead of fighting! God, anything can happen and she didn't even give it a chance. What if Ah had done what she did? Killed myself--not like Ah never thought about it, how easy it would've been..." She shook her head mournfully. "We might've been able to help her."

"Yes, we might have, but that is impossible to tell now."

"She died for us," Rogue murmured. "Said so herself. If she didn't die, everybody would still be in a coma. And Ah wouldn't be able to--" She abruptly stopped herself.

The Professor frowned, "Be able to what, Rogue. Would it explain what Ray and Roberto saw? How an invisible force kept the plane airborne, or how you used Scott's optic blast?"

Rogue ran her fingers over her mouth. _Yeah._

The Professor's eyes widened at the sound of her voice in his mind. Recovering quickly, he replied, _Have you absorbed Jean recently?_

_No. Ah can just do this now. Ah can phase like Kitty, eye-blast like Scott, magnetize like Magneto, freeze like Bobby, make cherry bombs like Tabitha--if Ah wanted to._

_How?_

_Annabel did it._

_What?_

_Don't ask me._

The Professor felt her suddenly cut off the psychic link. He poked at the surface of her mind and encountered a potent mental wall, stronger than the ones she had previously used to block out the problematic psyches. "Combined mutant abilities," he said in awe. "Rogue, do you realize...?"

"Yeah. No wonder somebody out there wants me so bad."

"But they cannot possibly know about this. They only see the potential." He contemplated the matter for a few minutes. Looking up, he asked, "And the psyches?"

"Gone. Ah mean, still there but they're different...Ah'm the one in control now. They don't attack me anymore. They can't."

The Professor whirred from behind the desk on his automated chair. He stopped at Rogue's side. "May I?"

She pulled off her gloves and he placed his hand over hers. "Funny, huh. All that time of brooding and bitterness...what am Ah gonna complain about now?" The words did not come out as blithe as she wanted them to.

The Professor patted her hand in a fatherly way. "How, I wonder, was Annabel able to do this. She was a powerful telepath, that much is obvious, but to grant you control of your powers...?"

Rogue refitted the glove over her hand, an action the Professor did not comment on. "She said the psyches weren't real, that she was going to give me what was missing. Ah don't really get it but at the same time...well, Ah have control."

"Not real..." The Professor seemed to be wracking his mind. "What could she mean by not real..." He remained silent for several mintes, then, "Hank and I have discussed and researched the nature of your powers, Rogue. We've even examined Scott on a number of occasions to try and figure out why he also can't control his powers."

"What does that have to do with anything," Rogue asked bluntly.

"Hank and I have a theory that Scott suffered some sort of head trauma as a child. From the occasional brain scans he's had, Hank has noticed some discrepancies in a certain area of his cerebrum, some bruises I suppose. That may be a reason he cannot control the optic blast. Some part of his mind was damaged so he lost that inborn ability. So in your case...perhaps you were born with that same part of your mind...incomplete."

Rogue pursed her lips dubiously. "Okay, suppose that's true. Still doesn't explain this."

"The psyches aren't real," the Professor said in a chant-like manner. "Not real...but if you can use their powers, how can they not be real, unless...powers...force...energy...unless they are a form of energy, energy that you tap into whenever you may please."

"What?"

"It's brilliant," the Professor said in awe. He smiled, released an amazed sigh. "Annabel understood the nature of your powers before any of us did, before even you. What an intelligent--or should I say empathetic--young woman.

"The psyches, Rogue, they are not real, indeed. If you had completely absorbed a person and taken their entire psyche, then yes, they would be considered 'real', but when you imprint only a part of them it is energy--their memories and powers--it is only stray energy. And this energy can be converted as the use of mutant abilities, like any form of energy can be transferred and transformed. Thermal into kinetic into electrical into mechanic... To be so insightful as to see it before all else, Annabel truly was a remarkable girl."

"But this doesn't make sense..." Rogue frowned. "Ah mean, how can it be so easy?"

"Think of it this way: how do Jean, Kitty, or any of the other students control their powers? It is an innate ability, one that is given at birth. You were born without a mind mature enough to manipulate the abilities of your mutation."

Rogue frowned, sorting through the information and inducing her own theories. "Okay...so does that mean Annabel just stuck some missing part of my brain back in?"

The Professor chuckled, "As much as that may be a possibility, Rogue, I do not think it could be _that_ easy. No, Annabel was a powerful telepath, with rare abilities rooting from the unique genetic material of her mother mixed with that of her father..." His eyes clouded over at the thought. "You said that she spoke of 'giving' something to you. She must have...possibly...linked the incomplete synpases in your brain to give you control."

It was so simple, yet so profound. The answer to her questions, the cure to her curse. Rogue wanted to thank Annabel, but Annabel was dead. Annabel would never know the joy she had selflessly granted others. Who gave her the right to make such a sacrifice? Rogue did not deserve this chance for life, especially with her inability to deal with her paltry personal issues. Annabel was such a better person than her.

"Rogue?"

"Ah'm still here."

"I would think you to be happy with this new development."

"Ah am...but just...troubled."

"This has something to do with the debonair thief?"

Rogue huffed, "How'd ya guess."

"I sensed something while he was here," the Professor admitted.

Rogue saw the potentially uncomfortable direction of the conversation. The last thing she wanted to do was discuss her love life with the Professor, no matter how much he behaved like the father she never had. "No offense, but it's personal stuff, Professor. Ah'll deal with it on my own."

"If it's taking a mental toll on you Rogue..."

"Why would ya think that?"

"A few minutes ago, before everyone left, you were muttering almost incoherently. I thought the psyches weren't bothering you anymore."

"They're not."

The Professor nodded in concession, "I'll take your word for it. You can always come to me for help, Rogue, you know that don't you?"

"Yes," she sighed. "Listen, Ah think Ah'm all talked out for one day. Are we done?"

"As long as you think we are. You don't wish to further discuss Annabel?"

Rogue tried not to hear her softly submissive voice, feel her forlorn sadness, see the hopelessness in her icy eyes... No, they were not icy. They were brown and warm. Coffee eyes. Pleading, gold-streaked coffee eyes. "No, Ah don't," she said, rising from her seat. "Ah'll...get over it eventually."

"You do not necessarily have to 'get over it', Rogue. It's okay to feel this way."

"Ah know," she said firmly. "Can Ah go now?"

The Professor cast her one last doubtful frown. Finally, he nodded.

Rogue made her way to the door, feeling his eyes on her back as she opened it. "Oh, and Professor?" she said, as a thought occurred ot her. "A favor?"

"Yes?"

"Don't tell anyone about my powers," she said, rather hesitantly. "Ah wanna have a lil' time to...get used to the whole...to everything first."

The Professor nodded with understanding, "As you wish, Rogue."

"Thanks." She stepped out into the hall and shut the door behind her. Immediately she released a breath and closed her eyes. Everything would be okay. She had to believe all the tension would pass.

It was Annabel's choice. She had to respect Annabel's decision, not condemn her for it. Yet, she was so ready to condemn Remy for something she didn't even understand, a nameless, unknown deed she feared he had committed. Suddenly the thought of confronting him, of ruining that tangible dream of him, became insufferable.

_But Ah have to know. Some girl died because of him..._ His guilt, his self-loathing... How had he hidden it so well?

Rogue's feet carried her down the hall, descended the stairs.

Did he do it himself--did she die at his hands?

Rogue stopped at the landing, heard voices approaching from the corridors below. She closed her eyes and concentrated. One second later she appeared at the Institute's broken front gate.

How had she failed to see it before?

Waving the sulfurous smoke away, Rogue continued walking, no destination in mind. They would be wondering about her, but she didn't care. She just needed some air.

How did he carry such a burden, live with the guilt day by day, wearing that mask of alacrity?

Tears sprang into Rogue's eyes, but she quickly brushed them away. He was no different than her, than everybody else. All people wore masks, but his covered something that even she had initially been unable to see, feel, it was buried so deep inside. He wasn't as carefree as she had believed.

* * *

**I really have the stop **with the hinting and spontaneous developments of plot. This is going to be one hellishly complicating sequel. And you thought "Demon in my View" was twisted...

**I just realized I haven't been doing this lately**

**Next Chapter: Relief**


	32. Relief

**You know how there's been so much speculation about who should play Gambit? **I never thought Heath Ledger would be much of a candidate, but then I was somewhere--can't remember, library? Video place?--and I saw the tape cover of his one movie _The Order_ and...wow...maybe I'm just crazy, but I was seriously stunned at how Remy-ish he looked. You guys should check it out! I mean, the short bangs, the light stubble on the chin--all he needs are the red-black eyes and voila, Remy LeBeau.Do an image search under themovie title--I can't do links here for some reason.Tell me if I'm crazy, but I think this is how I'd want Remy to look. Of course, Heath Ledger doesn't always look like that and sometimes I think he just looks odd, but w/e. Heard "the Order" wasn't so great a movie though, hmm, pity.

**Anyway, back to the subject at hand**, Remy and Rogue finally face the problem.

**Ishandahalf: **You really love the angst. You love the tension, just admit it. ;-) Hmm, wasn't sure if Piotr really COULD have a large vocabulary, I just kinda got tired of seeing some fics having him be illiterate. Hmmm...I've already planned how I want this to end...but I won't allude to how b/c it'll just make you worry more, and you love to worry—yes? Hehe. **Obsidian Hearts:** worth the wait? Oh, it MUST be good then. Thank you so much. I hate making you all wait more than a week and a half for updates—really nags at me—so I'm going to try and make it quicker. **Sweety8587:** No relationship ever worked by talking, hon. Lol, we know THAT'S not true. And believe me, they'll talk, but OF COURSE it won't be smooth and nice and happy...well, you'll see. **Possessor of the X Gene: **I love Muse! Thanks for turning me onto it; I've downloaded two songs that I like and I always play them whenever I'm on the computer. Great soundtrack music, totally agree to that. Ha! You ARE British—bet you talk with that accent—but what's the diff b/w British and English? **Browneyedimagination:** See, before this year, I never really thought there COULD be such a thing as "writing style" and I always inwardly scoffed at my senile AP English teacher whenever she stressed style—but now I get it. I'm reading a book now that has an interesting plot, but it's style is atrocious. Think about Harry Potter or Stephen King—the stories are always great, but if you look closely at the writing style, it's mediocre. But yeah, thanks, I kinda like my style, too. People do wear lots of masks...sad isn't it? **Totally Obsessed47:** I kind a long time without Remy interaction, huh? Didn't plan for that, but you'll see how it makes it interesting in the sequel. I hope you remember all the stuff from this story, otherwise the plot of the sequel will not be as interesting or connective (not a word, but w/e). Plenty of Romy here, but probably not the type you'd want. Eesh. **Bubbles1612:** You're a new name—I love that. Rogue and Remy have a little confrontation here, so scroll on down... **DreamSprite:** You love it SO much? Only so much? How disappointing...nah, I'm just being stupid right now. I lost track of time, can't remember when was the last time I updated so hope this didn't take over two weeks. Yikes. I'm becoming as bad as the others around these parts. **Fudgebrowne:** Well....I'll let you be the judge of whether or not this chapter was really much for relieving anything...I spelled it "Genny", but you'll see—and I'm going to have some fun with Remy's past on this one. **CatStar14:** See, when ppl say I never cease to amaze, I start dreading the day when I lose my greatness and then I become on of those washed-off old ppl of degraded talent...May my creativity never peak! Sabertooth is as messed up as they come, that bloodthirsty psychopath. Ugh. He belongs in an prison for the insane. As for Rogue telling the rest of the X-Men, I didn't think it was a big deal—it hardly affects them (well, besides being able to touch her, but if you think about it, ppl don't really touch each other that often). As for the skimpy outfit thing and showing off, I never really considered Rogue the type to do that. I didn't like the fics where after Rogue got control of her powers she suddenly turned into a Jean or Kitty or a slutt. She's Gothic-like because it's her personality, though it does have something to do with her powers, but she's still her. And thanks for asking about my Thanksgiving. The food this year was actually GREAT and all my relatives came from all over so it was really fun. Not going to be like this next year though...kinda makes me sad. Oh, well, at least we know how to make good food now. **Freak87:** The whole "project" ties in with the sequel of course. Remember all the stuff that transpired in this story, otherwise the events of the sequel will not be as...what's the word...potent? Effective? It was so boring typing up the "informing the adults" scene, so I had to throw in the Remy/Genevieve angst, and then it got interesting. Just wait for thos THAT plays how, heh. Oh, don't worry. It seems that everyone is paranoid about Rogue whenever she wanders off somewhere. She'll come back, and then we'll confront. **Raven001:** Hey, you're name is the same as mine, that's kinky. You read all this in two nights? Wow, talk about an eyeball workout. But I'll just think the story was that captivating. Thanks for your efforts. Wow so God—haha, I have to remember that line. Nah, Remy's tougher than meek little gunshot wound! ;-) **enchanted light:** hahaha...hey, let me know if you actually check to see if I reply to your four-word reviews. Just a little notice is all I'm asking. **SickmindedSucker:** Yeah, I always wonder how people deal with the whole "I killed someone" thing—or, in this case, "I got someone killed". How do you live with the guilt? **Flowerperson:** You're going to let me name one of your puppies?? I'm feeling honored right now...hmm...what could it be...I'll have to give it back to you on that. How can you be confused? L I thought I'd done good with the explaining....well, skim back and see if it registers more. If not, just ask me questions. **Allie:** Yay, my story is that good. Makes me happy to hear that. Hahahaha, you have a dictionary handy—that's not funny, but it seemed appropriate to type the "hahahaha"s anyway. LOL—"Rogue and Remy in the same room! Woot woot", that was funny. **Whothehelltookmyscreenname:** OH MY GOD—you're a guy?! This is so exciting b/c you just might be the only one I know who reads my fic. We're all girls here, I'm pretty sure. I did a poll a while ago, and too bad you weren't there for that—would have been really entertaining to have all girls, and then like one guy. And you're Acadian huh, that's cool. Along the same bloodlines. And hey, impressive diatribe there with Rogue's history. I didn't know all of that, but if I had, I would have somehow incorporated it into my fic, b/c I always try to do that, to make it seem more realistic. But can't change it now... And besides, this IS the Evolution universe, and though I really do loathe ppl straying from the original--and in my mind, true--storyline, it's been done so many times already. Look at the Ultimate series, talk about different. I don't read the comic books, being VERY NEW at this whole X-Men fan thing, but I do keep up with whatever's offered on websites, and Ultimate Rogue and Gambit are not how I would've made them. I would've made them like how I have made them, like the Rogue and Gambit in my fic--so anyway, this is just an alternate universe so all's fair game concerning Rogue's "issues". That's what's fun about it. **GothikStrawberry:** Doesn't she always go through hell though? That's what makes Rogue Rogue, right? Well, that's how I see it—and hon, can't avoid it either. So sad... **Shockgoddess:** whoa, I just read a review from somebody else (Possessor of the X Gene) and he/she said it was them that mentioned Muse! I seriously can't remember now...either way, it's great music and I love it. Yeah, could have gone more indepth with the powers theory, but honestly, couldn't think anymore at that point! Rogue was born without a brain mature enough to control powers...that DOES sound like he's insulting her...oh, well, can't change it now. Actually, you don't get to find out what the whole "project" deal is about—sorry! That was just a seed for the next story. **Hbrogan:** One of the best? Thank you thank you to no end. Don't you just love the angst? I know I do. **Sanaria:** Hmmm, yeah, Rogue DOES torture Gambit a lot in this fic...I realized that a little bit while I was writing it, saw how Gambit was always stressing and Rogue was kinda just moping around confused...so I guess it's time to make Rogue suffer a little bit. **Flame31:** Yeah, I'm a little against Rogue gaining control too, but without it eventually happening, it's not much of a story you know? It'll be like in the comics, and a lot of people think the whole Rogue and Gambit thing has been drawn out for way too long. I do, too, but I don't want them to settle down and get married either, that would ruin the whole thing! So I guess it's just a catch-22 and we'll have to deal with it. As for me portraying it well, thanks for the comment; it means a lot. If you're worried about it turning into an easy-going mush fest where all's happily ever after (or would you want that?), don't because that's far from the truth of this ending. Well, you'll see...

* * *

Lance and Wanda left the next morning. After a hearty breakfast prepared by Ororo, they announced their departure. Pietro and Todd were coming to pick them up. "We've been hanging around here for too long," Wanda said, rather grudgingly. 

"Our doors are always open to you," the Professor told her. "If the prospect of becoming an X-Man seems appealing..."

Wanda quickly eased her way into his sentence, "Thanks, but no thanks, Prof. Lance and I aren't X-Men material, trust me on that." With a halfhearted wave, she walked out the front door to the jeep parked in the driveway. From the driver's seat, Pietro cast curious glances into the mansion as Todd exclaimed, with much excited volubility, his glee of seeing Wanda.

"Thanks," Lance said to the Professor. He stood in the doorway, seemingly hesitant to go.

The Professor noticed the boy's attention frequently flicked to something behind him. "Lance, you do not have to leave."

"Nah, I kind of do."

"It is your prerogative."

"Yeah..." Lance finally gave up biding time. He shook the Professor's hand, "Thanks," and turned on his heel towards the jeep.

"Took you long enough," Pietro said with a supercilious huff.

Wanda punched him in the shoulder. "Shut your hole and drive, coward."

The jeep's engine revved to life and soon it was winding its way down the Institute's driveway. It passed through the front gate, where Logan and Roberto were mending the wrought-iron fencing.

Telepathically closing the door, the Professor said, "He might have listened, had you asked."

Half-hidden behind the staircase banister, Kitty stood and slowly walked down the steps. "Maybe," she said, "but probably not. I'm pretty sure that it's, like, supposed to be this way--you know?"

The Professor whirred to her side on his wheelchair. He patted her on the arm and offered a sagaciously comforting smile. Without another word, he left her alone in the foyer.

Kitty sighed, hugged herself. She wasn't sure how long she stood there so immobile, mindlessly dazing the minutes away. When she heard the crash, she nearly jumped ten feet. She walked towards the source of the abrupt noise and entered the rec room. At first, nothing seemed out of place, but then she saw the brunette head bobbing up from behind the couch.

"Um, are you, like, okay?" she asked.

Remy finally pulled himself to his feet. He was dressed in green Med Bay scrubs, loosely wrapped in one of the thicker, more comfortable robes. "Yeah, fine," he said gruffly. He seemed slightly breathless, whether from pain or exertion Kitty could not discern. "Sorry 'bout de bowl."

Kitty watched him for a few seconds longer than necessary. It absolutely amazed her that this guy could look so good in bed clothes. It was no wonder that Rogue had been captivated by him, especially with those freakishly intriguing eyes. Kitty blinked and eyed the candy dish: it was shattered on the floor, pieces of chocolate and sweet tarts commingling with the glass. "No biggie," she said. "There's a broom in the closet." She moved across the room to retrieve the dust pan and sweeper. As she bent down to collect the shards, Remy sat on the arm of the couch.

A strange silence befell the room, the only sound being the _whish, whish_ of brush thistles.

"Y're Shadowcat, right?" Remy suddenly said.

Startled, Kitty looked up. "Yeah, but my real name's Kitty."

"Rogue's friend?"

"I'd like to think so."

"Y'guys close?"

Kitty gathered the last of glass shards and tossed them into the nearest garbage bin. She shrugged while she put the cleaning materials away, "Yeah, I guess we are pretty close." She frowned, unsure, wrinkling her nose. "No, I _know_ we're close."

"Y'two seem like perfect opp'sites," Remy remarked.

Kitty didn't know whether to be amused or insulted that he found it amusing. "So? Just because we're different, doesn't mean, like, I don't get her. I mean, do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Get her."

Remy shifted in his seat. "Don' know where dis interrogation came from."

Kitty rolled her eyes, "You're one of those paranoid types, aren't you?"

"Healt'y for a t'ief t'be sometimes."

"Don't change the subject."

"What _is_ de subject, p'tite?"

"God, no wonder she's so frustrated with you!" Kitty exclaimed, before she realized what she was saying. Her own annoyance had made way for inappropriate hyperboles. She winced when a disquieted expression flashed across the Cajun's face.

"Dat why she's run off somewhere?"

Kitty chewed on the inside of her mouth. "No...well, I don't know...she hasn't talked to you yet?"

"Obv'ously not."

Kitty bristled at his dry tone, "Well, she said she would."

"Why she frustrated?"

"Maybe not _frustrated_," Kitty amended. "More like...unsure...look, we shouldn't be talking about her like this. When you see her..." Her words trailed away as she realized Rogue had never come back to their room last night. Kitty had slept early but woken to her room mate's empty and unused bed. She squelched the immediate worry that rose in her chest. "Uh, yeah, just talk to her, okay?"

Remy shrugged indifferently, "Doesn' look like she wants to." He slowly stood to leave, pulling the thick robe closer around himself. He moved with careful steps through the rec room.

"And what, you're just gonna sit by and let her be like that?" Kitty said.

"If dat's de way she wants it."

Kitty huffed incredulously. She felt annoyed and a little mad that he was writing Rogue off so easily. Was it just a face he put on or what he really thought? She scowled severely, "And I thought you were one for the chase."

"T'ings change p'tite," Remy said. He was already out the door as he tossed over his shoulder, "Sooner or later de game gets old." He disappeared the next second.

Kitty stared at the empty space he previously resided. His words held a fatalistic weight, reminded her of tasks requiring effort but receiving none--like mountains of homework on a Sunday night. She thought of Lance, she thought of Rogue, she thought of the dead girl who was probably the cause of this all. It was a confounded affair, one she probably had no business meddling with. Just as she was delving into unpleasant realms of irresolution, an excited shout vibrated through the walls of the institute.

"She's back!" Jubilee was yelling.

Kitty joined the others slowly gathering in the foyer. Jubilee threw open the door and they piled out to greet the warm summer morning.

A silver minivan sat on the driveway; a motherly-looking woman stepped out of the passenger side as a middle-aged man emerged from the driver's. He approached the Institute steps as the mother pulled open the sliding door. The Professor greeted him with a welcoming smile and cordial handshake.

Rahne slowly stepped out of the van. She wore a grey sweatshirt and loose black pants; small sunglasses protected her eyes. She lifted them onto the crown of her hair as she approached her friends, mother nearby.

Without any ado, the girls came forward and gave her hugs. The boys seemed to shrug "What the heck" and joined the circle. Everybody knew Rahne had been the closest to dying; everybody knew she was the first of them to experience the horror--but nobody voiced those thoughts. They were just glad to have her back and well.

"You guys didn't miss _me_?"

The small voice attracted the curiosity of them all. One by one they turned away from a smiling Rahne, watched as little Jamie crawled out of the backseat. He tripped on his way out, landing as five identical versions of himself on the pavement.

"Multiple!" Bobby exclaimed and latched an arm around one of the Jamies, digging his knuckles into his head.

"Lemme go!" the younger boy squirmed. "Hey, my head still hurts from the coma!"

Bits of laughter bubbled from the group. Ororo shook her head in disbelieving gratitude, "But your parents, Jamie, they said--"

"Rahne convinced them," the boy piped excitedly. "She came over and told them about how we're X-Men and need to stick together and all that stuff--plus, it helped that she looked so sick and everything. I think my mom and dad felt sorry for her or something because you talked to them Ms. Ororo and they didn't listen--"

"Jamie," Rahne rolled her eyes, "you're babbling." She affectionately ruffled his hair and gave everyone a pleasant smile. "I just wanted us all to be back, like the way it should be, you' know? We're X-Men. We gotta be together."

No body could disagree with that.

The Professor exchanged a few words with Rahne's parents. They hugged and kissed her good-bye before boarding their minivan and driving off. Jubilee and Ray escorted Rahne to the Med Bay for Hank to run through a quick examination. As everyone filed back into the mansion, Kurt lagged behind alongside Kitty.

"Have you seen Rogue?" he asked in a low voice.

"Not since yesterday."

"She vasn't at breakfast."

"Yeah, I know."

"Ray and Roberto told us about her using Scott's powers. And I saw her using your powers, too. Vhat do you think it means?"

Kitty chewed on her lower lip, wanting to relieve Kurt of his angst but unwilling to betray Rogue's trust. "Nobody really knows, Kurt. Don't let it bother you too much. You know Rogue better than most--she's, like, the toughest girl around."

Kurt nodded, "Yeah, she is." He nodded as though affirming the statement. "Besides, I have a feeling she's fine--or at least, vill be."

Hooking her arm around his, Kitty tugged him through the Institute front doors. "Of course she will. She'd be, like, insulted if you thought otherwise. Now let's go see what the others are doing."

--------------

Lance and Wanda had gone back to the Brotherhood. Piotr and John had returned to the Acolyte base. The only outsider remaining was him. It had started out this way in the beginning, from that very first night he lay near-death at the Institute front gates. Now it seemed events had revolved in a circle; he was once again wounded, alone, in a place he probably did not belong.

Maybe not completely alone. There was Rogue to consider. Nothing was the same; things had changed--he had changed. Everything he believed and wanted had been altered the moment he came to terms with what Rogue meant. She filled the void; she mended the wrongs and gave him a sense of...there was not a word that did justice to the feeling she gave him. And yet, here he was, wandering the halls of the Xavier Institute, solitary and aching.

Because she knew.

Remy gritted his teeth together. He had almost forgotten about that calamitous night in Paris--even when he had promised never to forget. It was the only way he could make up for what he had done. To always be reminded of an atrocity one committed was punishment enough for the atrocity itself. But he had momentarily forgotten because of Annabel, because of Rogue.

Rogue. Rogue. Rogue.

Dieu, he was sad, brooding over some girl who, by the looks of it, had ditched him. But she knew! She knew and she had become cold and distant. There was a possibility he was only being paranoid, but that was minuscule. The things she said during the meeting... Remy felt like he had been listening to his very own thoughts.

He meandered along the second floor corridors, glad to stretch his legs. Fresh morning sunlight poured in through the tall windows and illuminated the elegantly decorated walls and carpeted floor. It was a very pretty day outside, though he failed to appreciate the placid weather. He wondered where Rogue was, what she was doing, thinking. Then, as if by some sardonic trickery of Fate, he passed the last window and caught of glimpse of her. He paused by the glass, peered down into the back yard.

She was sitting on the plane wreck, a meek figure amongst the crumpled metal and trees. Most of the jet had already been cleared away or dismantled for recycled use. Only the skeletal structure remained, and Rogue sat with her legs dangling on one of its beams, head tilted towards the breeze, hair fluttering about her shrouded face. How she had climbed to that position, Remy could not guess. He stood watching her, irritated and amazed, concerned and appalled.

_What do y'know? What are y'thinkin'?_

She couldn't have heard his thoughts, but she looked up nonetheless. Even from his high perch he noticed the scintillation of her eyes. She raised her head slowly, as if afraid of what she might witness. When she saw him, she did not look away. Remy kept her gaze for as long as he could. He realized her expression was questioning, almost accusing. He pulled himself from the window and continued down the hall, feeling more disturbed. She knew, without a doubt she knew. And that was why she was avoiding him.

_So dis is what it all comes to,_ he thought scornfully. His feet carried him in a stalking gait, taking him somewhere he didn't care to determine. Images of the past few weeks flashed across his memory as he traversed the hallways, every one reminding him of why he had always preferred to be alone. How could he think everything would be okay? How could he believe the past would not return to haunt him? The cynical part of him wanted to laugh; the situation was almost funny.

As much as he knew it was wrong, he was angry. Angry at the Guild, angry at Henri, angry at Rogue. Somehow, for some inextricable reason, he thought it might not matter to her--an improbable notion, too high of an expectation, too delicate of a hope that she would see him for what he really was, and want him anyway. This was why life was better fought through alone; this was why he had never before expected anything for anyone. The disappointment hurt more than he would ever admit to himself. So instead, he was angry.

Remy found himself in an elevator. It descended to the lower levels of the mansion and the doors slid open. He stepped out, surveying the area the X-Men used for battle training and mission planning. A smirk played across his lips as he approached the door to the Danger Room. He pressed the exterior button and with a swish of hydraulics, the large doors slid open.

Upon his entrance the Room automatically lit up. He walked about the speckless steel area for a while, strangely at peace in such a metallic, barren place. Tension in his muscles built up. He did not like long periods of inactivity. To heck with what Hank said.

Remy rode the elevator up to the Danger Room control tower. His experienced eyes scanned the surface of complex computer keys and simulation controls. After fiddling about with the central computer, he came upon a file containing custom programmed simulations. He languidly browsed through them for several minutes, finding every one as unappealing as the next. Long minutes later, he came upon something labled LOGAN'S STRESS RELIEF. He pressed the appropriate buttons, curious to see what sort of body-exhausting exercise this would prove to be.

At first, it seemed like nothing happened. Remy frowned and wondered if the Danger Room was malfunctioning. Then he heard the metallic movement of doors and rose from his seat to get a better view. Down below, a portion of the floor receded, allowing a matted platform to rise from beneath. On it sat a punching bag and a bench littered with related accessories.

Slightly amused and considerably surprised, Remy rode the elevator down to the main level. He pulled off his robe and shirt, dropping them on the bench. Palpating along the tightly-wrapped bandages, he found the gunshot areas tender and sore, but the stitches were strong and flexible. He approached the punching bag and gave it a few taps with his fists, testing himself. Movement hurt, no doubt of that, but it was a pain he could endure.

Beside his clothes on the bench sat boxing gloves, powder, water bottles, and hand wraps. He began a preliminary exercise, experimenting with the limits of his ability. The harder he punched, the greater the sting in his chest. He masochistically welcomed every ache, burn, and stab of discomfort. At least he could feel something other than the disappointment and...no, he didn't want to think about it. He was so audacious as to spin and deliver the bag a round-off kick. He nearly fell from the jolt of pain, but squelched the discomforted yell. When the initial shock resided, he felt fine. He stepped into the stance to do it again.

"There're less painful ways to let off steam, ya know."

Remy froze, arms angled and ready to punch. He turned his head to acknowledge her presence but didn't meet her gaze. Couldn't meet her gaze. "Not really, chere." He turned away and approached the bench. Snatching a few strips of thick gauze, he began wrapping them around his knuckles.

Rogue leaned against the Danger Room door, arms crossed. "Sure there are. You could take a brisk walk or somethin'. Boxing works the pecs too much--"

"Dat's de point," he cut her off, with more coldness than he had intended. His ill-directed anger had not dissipated. When he finally looked at her, he caught a slight trace of hurt on her features. He rammed a fist into the bag, mentally did it to himself. Shaking his head, he rested an arm on the bag and sighed.

Rogue quickly dismissed his iciness. "Seriously, Remy, you should stop."

Just because she told him not to, he dealt the bag a hard blow, heard the satisfying rattle of its chains. He ignored the stabbing prickles on his chest. He was beginning to feel it in his wounds, warnings that he was going too far. Merde, he didn't care.

Rogue hesitantly stepped into the Danger Room. The doors gently whooshed closed behind her. She stood a few seconds, still, watching, listening to the thud of his fists assaulting the stuffed bag. "We need to talk."

"Didn' look like y'wanted t'talk." Remy resisted the urge to grimace. He paused and adjusted the wraps around his fists. Subtly checking his bandages, he was relieved to see the blood wasn't visible; he felt it slowly exuding from the stitches. Good thing Hank sewed him up so well.

An expression halfway between guilt and shame washed over Rogue's face. "Ah didn't...that was before."

Remy turned his back to her, jaw tight. "Mais, maybe I don' wan' talk now. Ever t'ink o'dat?" The anger and disappointment was making him act unnecessarily cold towards her, and though he wanted to stop, he couldn't quite manage it. When he turned around to face her, she had narrowed her eyes and was staring at him heedfully. She said nothing. Remy returned to harassing the punching bag.

Rogue released an exasperated sigh, "Will ya just stop hitting that thing?"

He didn't. It was actually alleviating some of the tension that had built up in him, but the price was increasing amounts of pain in his chest. He wondered how much he could take before he had to stop. At this rate, much of the Vicodin in the Med Bay was going to be used up pretty soon. He paused for a few moments to catch his breath--not from physical exertion, but to lessen the stinging in his chest. "What for, chere?" he demanded, eyes boring into hers. "So I can _watch_ y'avoid me?"

"Ah didn't mean to--Ah just needed some time for--" Rogue cut herself off, bit her lip. She hugged herself and focused her eyes on his hands. "Listen, Ah'm seeing things, memories, and Ah know they're yours."

Remy's stomach tightened as he waited. Would it be an accusation or subtle question first?

Neither. "They're a lil' scary, Remy," Rogue whispered.

Her statement was so vulnerably meek, so soft and delicate. Remy tried to block it out. It was easier to be mad at her--then he wouldn't feel so much at fault. He raised his arms, jabbed left, right, swung a left hook.

"You're just gonna ignore me?" Rogue asked, voice raspy with disbelief. "Ah'm trying to figure this out...Ah'm..." She shook her head and released a low, frustrated growl. "Ah'm sorry for avoidin' ya--Ah just wasn't sure..."

"But y'were ready t'think de worse o'me, right chere?" Remy asked, lowering his arms, eyes on the floor. His words held no contempt or accusation, only a languid conviction that worried Rogue.

"Is that what you think?" she asked, a little hurt, a little insulted. "How can you--Ah'm not...Ah couldn't help feelin' your memories, _your_ feelings. And Ah don't know why they're comin' up now 'cause this's a really hellish time for 'em to, but Ah'm tryin' to figure out what it all means..." She trailed off when he resumed his self-destructive activity. What did it take to get his attention? She was beginning to worry about how he was injuring himself. "Who was Genny?" she finally asked.

Hearing her name, a surge of memories resurfaced. Trickery, seduction, deceit, betrayal--he smashed the punching bag harder than he should have and released a painful gasp.

"Remy!"

He doubled forward and fell to his knees, forcing air into laboring lungs. He was never going to hear the end of it from Hank. There wasn't much time to contemplate that though, as gentle hands gripped his shoulder. He realized her bare fingers were on his skin, yet he was still conscious. Were her powers still under control?

"You idiot," Rogue said, her voice strained and hoarse. "What are ya tryin' to get out of this?" She hooked an arm under his right, wrapped the other around his waist. She gently pulled him back to a sitting position. Then, as if coy, she knelt on the ground at a respectable distance.

"Stress relief," Remy muttered. He breathed through his teeth for a few seconds before the pain significantly resided.

Rogue shot him a deprecating glare, then closed her eyes and tiredly exhaled. "Ah really don't know what to with ya sometimes, Remy."

"At least do somet'ing, chere," he said in a low voice.

Rogue bit her lip, lifted her eyes to meet his. She saw in them what she always saw: Remy, her Remy. And he had never been anything but. Why, then, was she so afraid of a memory? She sat within a foot of him, could reach out and touch him, yet they seemed so distant. An impalpable barrier kept them apart--a past deed that neither truly wanted to confront. How was it possible to move on if they didn't; how would they cope if it was unpardonable.

"What happened?" Rogue whispered. She knew they had to face this.

"Y'really don' wan' know, chere." His head drooped at the memory. He saw her pleading eyes, heard her muffled scream through the plummet... Soft, warm hands enveloped his clenched fists and he slowly looked up.

"Tell me," Rogue said. Her gaze was soft, willingly understanding. She seemed to promise with a single look that she would not judge him, that whatever had happened, he would not be subject to her condemnation.

Remy stroked her soft fingers, forgot about the throbbing in his chest. "Can't," he said hoarsely. "S'not dat easy."

Rogue lowered her eyes in disappointment. Didn't he trust her enough to confide? Just when she thought the situation was hopeless, his next words came most unexpectedly.

"Absorb me."

"What?"

"Absorb de mem'ries."

As if fearful her powers might rise unbidden, Rogue sharply drew her hands away from him. "Why can't ya just tell me?"

"It'll be better dis way," Remy said. "Nothin' gets left out. An' dat's what's best right now, non? Everyt'ing out in de open."

She looked at him doubtfully, not sure she was willing to know _everything_. There was a sense of security if he were to simply tell her what happened--however false and superficial it might be. Absorbing the memories meant absorbing the event to the very pith of its occurrence. She would be reliving it, experiencing it first hand.

"Trust me, chere," Remy coaxed. "S'okay." He lifted his palm in offering.

Rogue stared at him, awed at his gallant initiative. He wanted her to know exactly what had happened, abandoning any method through which he might inadvertently lie. She respected him to no end for that. With a slow nod and deep inhale, she shut her eyes.

Remy waited for the familiar tingling. Her hand shakily rose, hovered over his palm as though she could see it through closed lids. Then, in an almost desperate and regretful motion, she clasped her fingers around his. The absorption began.

* * *

**What a horribly enticing** place to leave you guys. Sorry, couldn't help it.

**Next Chapter: Passage**

Ha, I remembered to do that today.


	33. Passage

**Happy Holidays! I doubt any of you **are about to go online on Christmas day, but I figured me uploading is sort of like a "present"? I worked like crazy to get this chapter up b/c, my God, I swear it turned out longer than I planned. It was over sixteen pages on my word processor.

**And I have to say thanks to all you reviewers**--I really crabby these days, but whenever I read a review, I can't help but smile. So thanks for cheering me up so well!

**Just so you guys know, **I am not going to pretend I know French because I don't. Not a lick. So, yeah, just bear with it. **Also** if you guys want **to see the Concorde Saint Lazare** for yourself, go to Yahoo image search and type in "Concorde Saint Lazare"--the pictures are beautiful!

**On a final note**, I think it would serve well to look into Gambit's background concerning Genevieve Darcenaux and his rite of passage in the Thieves' Guild. It'll give just the right perspective, added with my vision of things. Check his bio out on and read about what happened in Paris.

**Flowerperson:** Gee, I really don't know what to name a puppy--I've never had a pet before. And besides, I didn't get this until today so go ahead and name it. Shoot, missed my chance, but oh well, that's life.**EmeraldKatsEye:** I'm slightly worried, was that a good "oh boy" or a bad "oh boy"? Yeah...probably overthought that one. Shame on me. **Lady Godiva:** Yeah, I agree that the whole Genny thing isn't _that_ bad, compared to other things that could happen. But imagine, if you're responsible for having someone killed--well, words could do no justice to how much that'd suck. The severity of things escapes us when it happens to someone else--once it becomes our reality though... Anyway, I'm going to make it much worse, just for the Rogue/Gambit angst sake. Don't worry--I won't make it stupid and impractical, Rogue's reaction I mean. **Flame31:** Give me some credit--do I seem like the mush-fest type? LOL, enjoy the angst...though I think this chapter is longer than necessary. Whatever, I'm allowed some long-windedness. **Freak87:** Yeah...the story DID go in a complete circle...that's so weird, but the funny thing is, that's a literary technique for some novelists. It's called setting up a "frame" where you end where you begin. It gives readers a sense of...what's the ? Makes the story more believable when everything ties back together at the end. Hmm...TOTALLY unintentional. Some little thought in my head realized that, made Remy have the thought, then moved on. Thanks for bringing that to my attention--makes me feel more like an intellectual. **Allie:** Oh, please, get up off your knees! But your praise is ever welcome, thank you very much. I seriously never realized I used that extensive of a vocabulary, but it's so fun to sample different words--can you tell I love words? If I don't have writing as a career, I think I'll die of not fulfilling a destiny, or whatever. Lol. Yeah, the ending sucks for you all doesn't it? I'd apologize if I meant it. ;-) **Ishandahalf:** Hell yeah curse that stupid exams to hell--what are they trying to DO to us??? As for Remy in a movie, if he's not in X3 I will be so pissed...but whatever. But you had to see that sort of ending coming, right? C'mon now, you should know my ways, especially after thirty some chapters...ok, I'm enjoying teasing you too much. Haha, enjoy. And of COURSE I'll find a way to twist things! It's almost sick how much I enjoy this! **Chica De Los Ojos Cafe:** Don't believe I've seen you before, first time reviewer? Hi. This wait was long, I know, but it's a long long chapter, too. Enjoy. **Enchantedlight:** Okay, first of all, you have no idea how I almost burst into giggles when I saw your reply to my reply to your review. Haha, oh man, I love having you around with your consistency. Yeah, it's great, keep it up. **Totally Obsessed47:** Hmm, not sure what to say to you...what shall we discuss? Well, actually, you could just read! Oh, and review, too. I'm just stupidly under the obligation to reply to everybody. You're all important, y'know. **SickmindedSucker: **I don't think I'll ever stop being intrigued by how you so ably analyze my chapters. You notice trends and mood, diction, plot, tone and character symbolism and all that...wow. You get good grades in English classes, literary analysis papers? Hmm...just curious.** SarQueen4:** I don't know how to react but with the usually cliche and cheesey, "You think this is the most awesome x-men story you've ever read? Thank you!" But honestly, I never get sick of hearing that so thank you. Keep reading and I hope I don't disappoint. **Orion Kohaishu:** Swear all you want, hon. I want to, A LOT OF TIMES, but I've got this hellishly annoying voice of etiquette bugging the crap out of me...and I have to listen--sigh--. And I don't know how to thank you for such a praising review! You must really like it--a fact of which I am glad to know. I wish there was another way to say "thank you", it's so damn hackneyed by now. Never heard it being a "masterpiece" before, but I have to say, _I_ like my fic, too. Hope I don't disappoint! **Sweety8587:** Hmm, I wonder, _was_ this chapter what you thought it was? You must let me know. I always find it amusing when readers can predict what's gonna happen. I liked how you seemed to analyze all the bits of the chapter that seemed important. I try to do that (blame my AP English class, but heck, I rather enjoy it myself). I put some effort into inserting little details, using _specific words_ to emphasize a point or suggest an issue. I'm glad that you took notice to some of them. If you look back at the previous chapters and do some critical analysis, I'm pretty sure you'll discover a lot about the characters, plot, and "life", just by reading deeper into the diction. **GothikStrawberry:** It's so hard to say! We want these two to work it out, but at the same time if they did, the story would suddenly get boring as hell because the whole point of Rogue/Gambit is how these two never seem able to get it together! So all us fans are at a loss--well, at least I am. Same thing with cliff hangers--I guess they're only good when there's a whole other chapter next to dissipate your anxiety. **CatStar14:** You don't know how Genny is?? I feel like I should do some clarifying...wish I'd done that at the end of the last chapter now that I think of it...well, look her up on the net under "Genevieve Darcenaux"--or you could just read this chapter. I do some explaining but it's different from the comic book version. Still, if you looked her up at like or something, it'll add more to your understanding. **Kendokao:** What's roleplaying? This girl at school (I can't figure her out because she seems like a goth, a punk, and a nerd all at once, but she doesn't look like anything but a pretty girl posing as a goth but whatever) who goes to roleplaying things for Lord of the Rings. Is that what you do, too? You were only behind a chapter! I'm lagging SO BADLY these days--it's detestable! **Raven001:** My updates have been taking longer, for that I apologize. In the beginning I had written like six or seven chapters ahead of what I'd actually uploaded, but now I've uploaded all the ones I've written and I'm left with an unfinished one.--sigh-- Everything's just catching up to me! And I am planning a sequel. **Sanaria:** Such enthusiasm by words! Thanks! **Shockgoddess:** Funny little note about your mispelling, made me chuckle inside. And you're right about Rogue and Remy keeping the "place on its toes". They're so angsty while everybody else is pretty simple and not-so-complicated. But that's why we love them so much, they reach in and tug at our insides. **Possessor of the X-Gene:** Hmm, so you think you know what's going to happen with Genny, huh? Well, let's see if your are that foresight-ful (yeah, I know, not a word). And I swear on my honor that the green misty lady never even crossed my mind when I was writing about Annabel. I've never read the comics, all the info I have being from fan sites on the web, so my knowledge is pretty scrappy--but it's done well so far right? And Heath Ledger doesn't look Remy-ish most of the time, but I swear! On the cover of that movie, he looks soooo Remy-like. I hope they do justice to whoever they choose to cast as our man. I never knew the difference between British and English--and I never knew there were "British Isles" either; I thought Britain was just that huge chunk of island way over there. Now I can say I learned something today. Oh, and by the way, you can ask me questions about Annabel's background right now if you'd like. Send an email or even do it over reviews--whatever. **Aprilange413:** if you're hooked then my job is done. I should just quit right now. Riiiiiight. **Marakida:** Without a doubt this story will go finished. There are only a few chapters left anyhow, but they're still just as important as the others. And tune it for the sequel I'm planning! And, I'm pretty sure we're going to be addicts forever--or at least until we find something more amusing to occupy ourselves with. I'm afraid mine will be college. Damn real life.

* * *

The air held a certain ambiance--a scent, a feeling, a tone, whatever one wished to call it. Silently, it spoke through the women walking by in fashionable clothing, the innumberable cafés emitting the aroma of coffee beans, the silky music of talented and penniless street side performers. An aura of paradise exuded from every nook and cranny, from every person and animal, from every plant and building. Across the extravagant boulevard of such pleasurable senses, at the hotel Concorde Saint Lazare, an antique auction was soon to be held; objects and collectibles of every shape, size, and form were to be sold to the highest bidder among the wealthiest and most affluent of Parisians.

"Wipe dat look off y'face, boy. Y'look like an obvious first-timer."

Remy shot his brother a scowl. "What look?"

Henri smirked and adjusted the fit of his suit jacket. "Dat awe o'seein' Paris. Ain't like all it looks, y'should know."

"Spoken like m'still some lil' pup, Henri," Remy huffed. He, too, was dressed in a sleek tuxedo, enhancing his debonair countenance and head-turning allure. But beneath that genteel attire he wore his form-fitting thieving uniform, lest the heist required unanticipated performance. To keep from standing out amongst the crowd, his mutated eyes were concealed behind dark brown contacts. Many women passing them by favored him with appreciative double glances. He winked at a few of them as he said, "Dis may be m'test, but I still been a t'ief all dese years."

"No lie," Henri agreed. His keen eyes turned to scan the gathering auction attendants, the men dressed in dark suits and the women in silken gowns. "Quite de occasion, non?"

"Dey get awf'lly hyped up 'bout a sale in dis country."

Henri released a curt laugh. He never ceased to be amused by his adopted brother's wits. Leading the way, he strode across the street with Remy following. Henri carried himself with such professionally elegant composure, one would never peg him to be a veteran thief from Louisiana. He blended in perfectly with the wealthy and refined.

They walked through the front doors, passing well-groomed, uniformed bellhops eager to offer assistance and smile. From within, the hotel was more impressive than its chateau-like exterior. A granite-colored path lead past columns of polished white marble, through a rather small doorway at the top of pyramidal steps guarded by two bronze-coated stone statues. Remy followed his brother, noting which ornaments of decoration he would be stealing, if that had been his task. He entered the lobby and was immediately distracted by beautifully lit lanterns of crystal lattice, chandeliers of impressive glass. The high-ceiling only added to the august atmosphere of royal presence, the warm light reflecting off intricately carved amber arches. Concorde Saint Lazare spared no expense in its fine marble floors or artfully arranged furniture of maroon velvet. Its 19th century architecture only exempflied the exquisite taste of that era. Faint classical music played from invisible speakers; and Remy could nearly imagine the notes being plucked from the ivory keys of a grand piano.

A hotel manager, a suited Frenchman with two distinct whiskers of a mustache, stood before the streaming guests. He promptly pointed the arrivals in the direction of large double-doors leading into an expansive dining hall.

"I t'ought dis was an auction, not a dinner party," Remy said.

Henri smirked, "Why do y't'ink we all dressed up?"

Remy looked around at all the pretty clothing. "Any excuse t'get fancy, I s'pose."

A skinny lad at the door asked them to present their invitations.

Remy scoffed, "Fo'an auction?"

Henry briefly shot him a disapproving frown before revealing two folded cards of gold-embossed stationary. "Voilà."

The doorman took the invitations, glanced at them briefly, and handed them back. "Bienvenu a la Concorde Saint Lazare, Monsieurs Guischard. Amusez-vous bien cette façon." _Welcome to the Concorde Saint Lazare, Misters Guischard. Enjoy yourself this evening._

"Merci beaucoup," Henri said and walked past.

Remy casually nodded at the doorman before strolling by. Almost immediately, his amusement at the whole affair quickly dissipated upon seeing the dining room. It was just as elegantly decorated as the rest of the hotel, radiating shades of amber and maroon, bold and light. Several round tables formed a semi-circle around a dance floor; upon a raised dais sat an appropriately modest ensemble of musicians stringing out notes from violas, cellos, violins, and basses.

"I take it we went t'rough a helluva lot o'trouble t'do dis?"

"S'more fun, non?" Henri chuckled. "'Sides, was easier dan y'might t'ink."

"Not a thing de Guild won' try," Remy said under his breath.

The other guests took no suspicious notice of them. Some conglomerated within their social clusters about the floor, while others seated themselves at whatever tables and discussed business, gossip, and politics. Caterers dressed in maroon and black weaved through the shimmering bodies with trays of drinks and finger food balanced upon their hands. Remy deftly plucked two champagne glasses from a passing tray. Handing one to Henri, he drew a sip from his own glass. "So what now."

"Not sure when de auction be startin'," Henri admitted. "We might have t'play de parts o'Guischard fo' a while. No worries, dey're made-up people."

"All de more fun," Remy said. "Where's dis Herzog?"

"He'll be de one biddin' on de jewel. We'll find out soon 'nough. Meantime, m'go'n' check dis place out. Y'stay right here."

"An' do what, Henri?" Remy frowned.

His brother shrugged, already walking off. "Look pretty." His shaved head caught the light as he wandered away. Soon he had blended in with the other black suits around.

Remy smirked and took another sip of champagne. He moved subtly about the area, studying the people around, listening to snippets of their conversation, reading lips when necessary. One group of socialites he passed caught his attention. They spoke in rapid French but he understood them clearly.

"... l'Etoile du Tricherie, yes, that's the one."

"How can such a relic be put to auction?"

"The private owner doesn't want it anymore, of course. He can either give it to the museums or make some money out of it this way."

"I hear that Monsieur Herzog is bent upon claiming it."

"For how much?"

"Millions, if necessary."

"Whyever so much trouble for a stone?"

"Oh, you know the ways of these collectors...."

Remy moved on. He ran through several scenarios in his mind, planned his strategy for how he might pilfer the jewel. There were outside interferences to consider, as well. Who knew what ill fortune might meet him this night.

"Désarmant, non?"

He turned around, intrigued by the feminine voice. The first thing he noticed about the young woman were her radiant brown eyes, warm and comforting with potently noticeable gold streaks. Her hair, wispy and layered with attractive bangs framing her face, mirrored the color tones of her eyes. She wore a scarlet dress that complimented her skin and hair; the steep neckline swooped in a seductive V farther down her chest than ethically appropriate, its silken material clinging to her supple curves. Her back, completely bare down to the ends of her spine, was obstructed by only the meek halter cords around her delicate neck. She lifted the rim of a wine glass to glossy scarlet lips and sipped it politely.

Remy was pleasantly surprised. It wasn't new for an attractive girl to spontaneously greet him, but he never enjoyed it less. "Qui," he said to her previous question. "Ce hôtel est assez impressionnant." _This hotel is quite impressive._

The scarlet angel smiled, narrowing her eyes slightly in curious scrutiny. "Mmm...tu possédes un accent aigu." _You possess an acute accent._

Feeling slightly amused, Remy graced the girl with a sly, half-smile, "Vraiment?" _Really?_

She nodded, her glossy lips curving. "You are an American."

Despite how Remy had not expected it, he was not shocked that she could discern his nationality. "Cajun, more like," he said, taking her hand and kissing it. "De name's Guischard. Remy Guischard."

"Genevieve Darcenaux," she said. "Enchanté, Monsieur Guischard. Cajun, you say? If I recall correctly, your people reside within the southern regions."

Remy nodded, noticing how articulate she was though the English was slightly tainted by a French accent. She spoke the language in a way too proper for someone of her youth, obviously from years of stiffly professional instruction."I take it y've been dere."

"On several occasions. My father is a prominent businessman. He is here tonight with hopes of acquiring a few inessential things." She shrugged and asked, "What brings you to this occasion?"

"Mon frere an' his antique fetish. Y'know how dat goes."

Genevieve chuckled daintily. "I suppose I do."

Remy listened as the conversation continued. His words flowed without pause but in the back of his mind, he carefully studied her actions and words. He had a feeling, from that inscrutable instinct he possessed, that Madamoiselle Darcenaux attended the auction under false pretenses.

"...finest dinner parties here," she was saying.

"Speaking o'dat, to whom do we owe de gratitude?"

Genevieve nodded in the direction of a decrepitly slouched, ancient man. He appeared to be decades older than his body could sustain him; a bright cloud of white hair seemed to protect his head from overhead lights that might have otherwise harmed such susceptible skin. "Delano Montague, one of the wealthiest men in this part of the globe. He owns many European banks."

"I can imagine his heirs are eager for him to...expire."

Genevieve smirked.

Ever so gradually the lights began to dim. Conversation lulled as all eyes turned in the direction of the one brightly lit area. Led on both sides by two men, the venerable Delano Montague approached the dais. "Bonne sorrée!" he said, in a shockingly resonant voice. _Good evening!_

The guests applauded.

Montague then began, what Remy thought, a long-winded, boring speech. Remy tuned him out, taking to admire Genevieve out of the corner of his eye instead. Suddenly he heard the name "Herzog" and his attention snapped towards the dais in time to hear Montague pronounce a stern-looking man his guest of honor. Remy quickly memorized Herzog's appearance from the salt-and-pepper homogenization of his facial hair to the shiny tips of his Italian leather shoes. He began deducing the man's personality, style of conduct, temperament. Would he be difficult to steal from?

Almost immediately after, Remy noticed a man, just as built and intimidating but younger, standing at a respectable distance from Herzog. He appeared aloof but was obviously affiliated with the "guest of honor". By the looks of it, he was a personal body guard if not only a lackey for the dirty jobs. He wore all black, a loosely casual suit bare of tie, and his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses, his dirty blond hair tied into a strict ponytail. Remy had never seen such a figure in his life; he could not ignore the warning flashing through his mind.

"Quite the imposing figure," Genevieve commented, presumably about Herzog.

Remy looked away from the strange blond man. "I've seen bigger an' uglier," he said.

Genevieve playfully nudged him in the arm. "And how precisely is that so?" she asked with a smirk.

Remy ran a finger along the collar of his jacket in a slick and oddly classy gesture. "I've been places an' done t'ings people only hear 'bout, cherie."

"Oh?" Genevieve raised a suggestive eyebrow, watching him from beyond the rim of her sparkling glass as she sipped. Her countenance was wholly intriguing, her body language and eyes saccharine. "And do you assume I haven't?"

"Ah, Madamoiselle," Remy said huskily, "a lady o' such high stature cannot be exposed t'such...impure enterprises."

Her reply came huskily, the gold streaks of her eyes twinkling with mischief, "Those with wealth are often the most corrupt."

The lights brightened after Montague finished speaking, and the music started up again. Slowly, the party guests began taking their seats.

"It was nice meeting you, Monsieur Guischard," Genevieve said. She offered her hand.

Remy took it and planted another kiss upon the velvety skin. "De pleasure was mine." As he watched her saunter away he noted which table she sat at. Then he went to find Henri.

"Didn't I tell y' t'stay right here?" his brother demanded once they regrouped.

"Couldn't help m'self, homme," Remy shrugged. He looked in the direction of Genevieve and caught her eye. She winked and tipped her wine glass at him.

Henri noticed the gesture, raised an eyebrow. "Carefrul wit' dese French femmes, Remy. Dey ain't all dey appear t'be."

"Already figured dat."

"Den let's sit. T'ink dey're servin' appetizers an' I'm hungry."

They found a table that did not seem occupied. No sooner had they seated themselves that the remaining places filled, attractive women in even more attractive gowns, men in suits sporting opposite colors of the light spectrum. Some knew each other on a personal basis while others were just as much strangers as Remy and Henri. In such close proximity with one another, conversation remained light and cordial, lacking scandalous discussion. The table was a perfect model of respectable etiquette, unwavering manners, and polite behavior. Remy immediately grew bored.

"Y'yawnin', boy."

"Qui, so what."

Henri chuckled and said nothing more, enjoying the abundance of caviar and crackers. He finished his glass of wine and poured himself another. Swirling the liquid with his pinky, he said, "De auction be startin' soon. Keep attention t'de bidders. Y'know who'll go after de jewel."

"If y't'ink 'bout it, Henri," Remy said, "we went t'rough a whole lot more trouble dan necessary. Could've jus' waited till dis whole t'ing was over t'do de job."

"An' say we get a higher bidder who wins de t'ing? Or he has it whisked 'way t'God knows where? We'd never know. 'Sides, s'always unpredictable, tests y'creativity and wits. Let's see how y'do, hein?"

Remy shrugged, not anticipating this job to be very difficult at all. Throughout his years in the Thieves' Guild, he had proven himself time and time again to be naturally apt towards their work. He saw this rite of passage as most superfluous, though he did understand its importance in Guild tradition; it would authenticate his membership, prove to them once and for all that he was as good as they thought. But this time it seemed too easy. He'd probably get the job done so quickly and painlessly the Guild elders would demand another trial.

"S'startin'," Henri declared.

The pounding of a gavel sounded at the podium. A middle-aged man adjusted the microphone and announced the beginning of the auction. He began spouting off rules of procedure before finally introducing the first item up for bid. Gradually the auction began, various antiques and collectibles going into the coveted possession of wealthy Parisians. Remy paid keen attention to all that transpired, but grew weary with tedium not before long. Several times he looked towards Genevieve and several times, she returned his gaze. She rolled her eyes towards the auction master and shrugged. Remy smirked.

The light buzz of conversation slowly quieted as the next item was brought to the podium. Ensconsed upon a satin cushion within a glass enclosure, the l'Etoile du Tricherie glittered with scintillating magnificence. The warm light of the dining hall only caused it to gleam ever more brilliantly. Crimson and deep, a blood-soaked ocean, the jewel sat upon its cushion like the ambrosia of celestial gods; it provoked exotic desires and sinful longings in those whose eyes graced its perfection.

Remy looked around the room and noticed how quiet it had become. Everyone was seemingly mesmerized by the jewel. Henri frowned, stroking the hairs on his chin in silent contemplation. Remy saw only two others who did not stare in wonderment at the jewel: the man called Herzog and Genevieve Darcenaux. He was convinced more than ever that she was up to something, especially by the manner in which she regarded Herzog. The man sat at her table and was oblivious to her scrutinizing glances in his direction.

The bidding began, one after another after another. The auction master spewed hasty French into the microphone, struggling to keep up with the fast-paced declarations of monetary offerings. Remy watched and listened in amusement as the price rapidly climbed. Seventy thousand--ninety thousand--one hundred fifty thousand--two--two fifty--four--five--six fifty... Larger and larger the offerings grew as tensions thickened and competition became heated. Men and women were soon standing, ignoring the signs with which they were suppose to flag their bids, and shouted their offers instead.

_So much fo' manners and etiquette,_ Remy thought, and had to stifle a laugh.

The jewel seemed to bring out the aggressiveness in all. Suddenly, everyone was silenced as one booming voice announced a bid higher than the rest of them. It was so ridiculously large, so stupendously generous that none could top it. A moment of stunned silence followed.

"Vendu!" _Sold!_ the auction master gratefully shouted. "Monsieur Herzog--l'Etoile du Tricherie!" He pounded the gavel to close the transaction and immediately called for the next item.

Remy watched one of the auction master's aides approach Herzog and hand him a claim slip. The massive, black-bearded man nodded and settled back in his seat to enjoy the rest of the evening. Genevieve's gold-streaked eyes watched every movement. She glanced up suddenly, noticed Remy's gaze on her. She frowned but quickly smiled and tilted her head in teasingly.

"Gotchy' chere," he said, the corners of his mouth curving. "What _are_ y'up to?"

Henri raised his eyebrow, "Talkin' t'y'self now?"

"M'thinkin' m'not de only one after de piece."

"'Course y'aren't. See dat near-brawl jus' now?"

"Y'ain't lisn'n, Henri," Remy said in a low voice. "Dat girl, Darcenaux? She's been watching our man dis whole time."

Henri turned discreetly in the appropriate direction. "Looks like y'job jus' got more complicatin'. Can y'handle it?"

Remy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Master t'ief here, mon frere."

"Not worried 'bout y'skills, boy. If dis femme's catty 'nough t'take on de ape, she might have mo' tricks up her sleeve dan a few kicks an' punches."

"Hope so," Remy smirked. "M'gon' need some excitement after dis boring 'party'."

Henri sighed and returned to occupying himself with appetizers and wine.

The auction dragged on, going through six more items before Remy thought he would die of tedium. He kept close attention to Herzog and Genevieve during that time, planning and anticipating. Herzog conversed and smoked cigars with fellow aristocrats while Genevieve behaved like the polite daughter of a wealthy businessman she was. Remy decided he wanted as little interference with his test as possible; the girl would have to be dealt with.

The auction master announced a break and called for dinner to be served. As the caterers readied the dishes for each table, the string ensemble picked up its song. Several guests trickled onto the dance floor, dazzling women in the arms of their male companions. Remy received the necessary inspiration. He straightened his suit jacket and slowly stood from his seat.

"Where y'headin'?" Henri asked, raising an eyebrow curiously.

Remy drawled, "Prelim'nary prep'rations fo' de job." He winked and moved in the direction of Genevieve's table. Along the way, he noticed the heads of many femmes turning their brilliant smiles and wine-glossed eyes to admire him. He smiled in turn, but never lost focus on his target.

Strangely enough, it was a man that distracted him: Herzog's guard, the brutishly framed being with sunglasses and a blond ponytail. Though his eyes remained hidden behind black lenses, Remy sensed the attention of his gaze. Did that man somehow know what he planned to do? Would he warn Herzog? Remy shoved the troubling thoughts out of his mind. If the man knew and took action, he would deal with it--a Thief was always resourceful.

Genevieve sat serenely poised in her seat, hands gently clasped on the lap of her scarlet gown. She listened patiently to an elderly woman beside her spouting off about something nobody knew or cared about.

"Care t'dance, mon bella cherie?" Remy interrupted. He offered his hand, smiling in the fashion he knew gave most women pleasurable chills.

The elderly dame put a hand to her modest chest, her other tapping Genevieve in encouragement to accept his offer.

Genevieve's glossy lips parted in reply, but her thought went unexpressed.

"_I_ was to request a dance with the lady," a rumbling voice behind her said. It was none other than Herzog, his bulky form casting a shadow as he approached Genevieve's seat. He sternly placed both hands on the back support, greeting Remy with an exacting smile, eyes scrutinizing and severe.

Remy was careful to keep his countenance amiable. "Wit' all due respect, Monsieur, de first t'claim gets de prize."

Herzog chuckled deeply, the sound like brewing thunder. He spoke with his thick French accent, "I do not believe Madamoiselle Darcenaux appreciates being considered a 'prize'." When Remy did not comment he said, "The lady shall choose."

Genevieve seemed annoyed with the situation. She glanced suspiciously at Remy for a brief second, then promptly placed her hand in Herzog's massive palm. "So sorry, Monsieur," she smiled sweetly, "but who can resist?" Gracefully she slid from her seat and followed Herzog to the dance floor.

Remy did not move from his spot. His eyes slightly narrowed as he observed Herzog latch onto Genevieve's voluptuously youthful frame. He was trying to digest the fact of being denied--something that had never happened before--and at the same time wondered what Genevieve was up to. What self-respecting female would willingly allow that gorilla to twirl her about?

The elderly aristocrat sympathetically shook her head at him. She consoled him piteously with light French words. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, knowing the old woman couldn't see the situation wasn't so much vexing as inconvienent.

When he wandered back to the table Henri greeted him with a cheerful, "Go well?"

Remy smiled dryly, "Jus' like I planned."

"Uh-huh."

Remy ignored his brother's amusement and turned to observe the unlikely couple.

Genevieve giggled whenever Herzog made a comment, appearing like the witless French maiden Remy knew she couldn't be. She was practically jerked around by Herzog's flamboyant lead and looked like a minuscule doll in his forceful hold. Remy saw her masked irritation, which amused his cynical side.

Very soon the sound of music slowly faded, servers beginning to distribute the night's main course. Dancers ceased their waltzes and clapped for the disassembling strings ensemble. Genevieve smiled graciously as Herzog bent to kiss her hand. He then leaned in close and whispered something in her ear. Her smile waned to a sly curve of lips, her hand fluttering down the length of his suit jacket as she murmured something in reply. Herzog headed back to their table while Genevieve moved for the ladies' room.

Remy pursed his lips in mild disgust. He wondered what Genevieve's father thought of the interaction. He had plenty of time to contemplate that disturbing thought, as Herzog engaged himself with the entrées and Genevieve remained absent throughout the course of the meal. Everyone seemed to thoroughly enjoy themselves, even Henri, who chatted cordially with the people at their table. Remy kept a careful watch while pretending to partcipate in the trifling confab.

Just as the servers removed the first meal course from the tables, a vocal ruckus erupted at a table not far from Remy and Henri's. Stimulated by the prospect of action, Remy sharply looked up in the direction of the noise.

It was none other than Herzog that caused the commotion, yelling in French about his lost claim slip. "I could not have misplaced it, you imbecile!" he barked at the waiter. "You insult me by implying such carelessness! Where is the auction master? Find him!"

A couple uniformed men, led by the shaded, ponytailed man Remy had noticed earlier, retreated towards the claim area to search through the auctioned items. Guests around the spacious hall watched with interest as workers feigned normalcy. Second course dishes were already passed out by the time Herzog's men returned with a quaky auction master. Herzog was not pleased at being informed the l'Etoile du Tricherie was gone; someone had presented his claim slip and taken it on his behalf.

"How could that happen?" the gorilla blubbered in disbelief, much to Remy's amusement. "This is a secure auction--how could you men allow such violation?"

Suddenly the blond, ponytailed guard appeared. He whispered something in Herzog's ear. Herzog's eyes widened, then narrowed.

Delano Montague himself soon came upon the scene to try and placate his friend. Herzog would not be calmed.

While everyone's attention was fixed upon the spectacle, Remy slipped away. He located the restroom area and crept through the doors sporting the French letters for female. The powder area held a sweetly perfumed scent, lit by gold-shaded lamps with rose-cushioned stools before liquid-smooth mirrors. Within one of the painted red stalls, Remy noticed the familiar hem of a scarlet gown flutter against the floor. He leaned against the wall with a thump, raised his fist, and knocked.

Suddenly the toilet was flushed and the door swung open, Genevieve herself breezing out of the stall. She froze at seeing the intruder's reflection in the mirrors. First surprise flashed across the gold-speckled chocolate of her eyes, then suspicion. "You do realize this is the ladies' washroom?" she asked nonchalantly.

Remy crossed his arms, eyes angled towards the ceiling in thought. After a few seconds he looked at her and said, "Qui, dat was de point."

Genevieve narrowed her eyes, "Did you follow me?"

"Why, y'go somewhere interesting?"

"I have been here."

"All dis time, huh. Food poisonin'?"

"I have a weak stomach."

Remy stepped towards her until they were only a foot apart. "I know what y'did, cherie, an' have t'say, m'impressed."

She stared at him indifferently for a few seconds, then sighed as though weary of a moronic child. "You have seen too many American films, Monsieur Guischard. There are no conspiracies here." She moved to walk past him but halted as he grabbed her arm.

"Don' know how y'did it, but kudos nonetheless. Still, if y'ain't careful, dey'll figure it out and not even tu prere's gon' be able t'help y'."

Genevieve wrenched her arm free, narrowing her eyes disparagingly. "He never did before," she said, and without another word, walked out of the restroom.

Remy followed suit, impressed by her fearless attitude and amused to find she was not a novice thief. It seemed Fate had played another twist in his life; acquiring the l'Etoile du Tricherie was no longer to be a task of mere professionalism. Genevieve Darcenaux would not be misled by the tricks of a thief; Remy would need to find alternative methods of pilfering the jewel. A smile curved his lips at the thought--how did one get under Madamoiselle Darcenaux's skin?

By the time they returned to the main dining hall, the guests were gathering their possessions and leaving. Many spoke harsh comments about the inconvenience and disappointment of the evening, most irritated of missing the chance to bid on desired items. Much to everyone's vexation, the Delano Montague announced that the auction would reconvene in a few days; such heavy breach of security required prolonged investigation.

Remy smirked, leaning to whisper in Genevieve's ear, "Quite de stir y'caused."

"Always satisfying," she remarked. She turned to face him, speaking in a biting tone, "Our acquaintance ends tonight Monsieur Guischard. I never want to see you again."

"Y'always dis blunt?"

Genevieve arched her back, bringing her face only inches from his. Her glossy lips, a hair's breadth from his cheek, moved to pronounce her silken words, "It has been an interesting evening, but your act only works on the inexperienced and naive, Monsieur. I am neither."

Remy could smell her intoxicating perfume, breathe the quitessence of her femininity. "Didn't t'ink y'were." He watched her saunter away in search of her father, more intrigued than discouraged. There was no fun in having a woman without the chase; and Genevieve's body language nearly screamed for men to pursue her. She possessed an air of maturity and seduction beyond her years. He didn't have much time to fantasize, though, as someone roughly grabbed his arm from behind.

"Where'd y'run off t'?" Henri demanded.

"De john, if y'must know."

Henri scowled, "Dis ain't de time t'be messin' 'round. Somebody's run off wit' de' jewel before y'even got t'try!"

"Don' worry 'bout it, Henri," Remy assured him. "I have it under control."

The older man raised his eyebrows, "Y'already got it?"

"Dieu, pay attention next time, non? S'de girl--_she_ has it."

Realization dawned upon Henri's face. "Slick," he commented with an appreciative nod. He stroked the twin curls of his acute mustache, deducing the schemes that might be brewing in his brother's mind. "You'll get it, qui?"

"You know it, frere."

"Need any tips?"

"Have I ever before?"

A deep chuckle erupted from Henri's throat as he slapped Remy on the back. "Got t'admire y'brass, boy. Don't dispappoint, eh? Y'get dis lil' t'ing an' nobody'll even t'ink o'questionin' y'place in de Guild."

Remy did not voice how little that mattered to him. Instead, he told Henri not to worry, to return to their hotel and rest for remainder of the evening. "By de time y'wake up, I'll have de piece dangling in front of y'face."

Henri huffed at the haughty proclaimation. "Whatever y'say, boy. Remember dis is serious, determines y'place among us. Don't disappoint." He gave Remy a slap on the back and donned his top hat. Soon he merged with the departing mass of guests and disappeared from view.

Remy scanned the dining hall. He spotted Herzog, accompanied by the blond brute and several other men, push past other guests in his stalk towards the exit. Genevieve was not to be seen anywhere. Moving quickly, Remy followed Herzog. None of Herzog's men noticed Remy at his unsuspicious distance, not even the uncanny brute. He was able to follow them out of the main lobby area to one of the many, lavishly decorated lounges.

Herzog paced the room, heatedly seething while his minions stood about him.

"What are you gonna do?" the blond one asked. He was American.

"Give me a moment!" Herzog growled. "I must think..."

Remy moved from the arched doorway, too exposing as it was. He had noticed the lounge was multi-leveled, an interior balcony tracing along all four walls from which he would have a perfect view and be in complete earshot. Much to his convenience, he located a stairway not far from the lounge. He noiselessly skimmed up the steps, reached the landing in less than four seconds, and hurried through a few doors before finding the inner balcony. He crouched, half-concealed by the vertical bars of the banister, and watched the exchange below.

"...before she gets away with it for sure," the feral blond was saying. His voice was deep and baritone, holding a semblance of beastly growls. Remy could only imagine what cold, unyielding eyes those dark glasses concealed. What was that man trying to hide, wearing sunglasses indoors? Remy tried not to let it bother him too much and focused on Herzog's words.

"Your eagerness is most uncouth," the gorilla said. "If you had seized Madamoiselle Darcenaux in the dining hall, you would have caused an uproar and focused much hostile attention towards me."

The blond man shrugged his broad shoulders, "What's more important to you, the rock or your rep?"

Herzog's chest expanded slightly as his anger mounted. "Both!" he bellowed. Forcing calm, he began massaging his knuckles. "The girl must have pilfered it when we danced--how tricky she is, indeed, being so inviting while beguiling me the whole while."

"French schmuck," the blond man muttered under his breath.

Herzog turned on him, "What did you say?"

"French sluts. I've tasted a few myself--not worth the price."

Herzog growled in irritation. "I don't care to know the dirty experiences of your mercenary lifestlye. I do not know why I even keep you around, seeing as how expensive your services are."

"You didn't complain when I offed that rival of yours."

"No, because it was a job well done. And I see now that Genevieve must be taught the same lesson. Are you sure it was her that stole the l'Etoile du Tricherie?"

"I checked out the claim area; no doubt about it. She wasn't at the table during dinner, either. It's so obvious, you'd have to be stupid not to see it."

Herzog nodded, "In that case...she must be taught a lesson. Lamar Darcenaux is a powerful man, and will not react kindly to the extermination of his daughter." He turned away from the mercenary to address the others; they had been watching patiently the entire time. He ordered them to seize Darcenaux's daughter. If she did not come to him willingly, they would force her until interrogation revealed the location of the jewel. As his men left to prepare, the mercenary asked, "And where exactly is Little Miss Jewel Thief?"

"Here, at the Concorde Saint Lazare," Herzog said. "If they fail, the task will be yours. Kill her if necessary, but get me the l'Etoile du Tricherie and you can name your price. I have a feeling my men might not be able to apprehend her."

"Make it easy and let me finish the bitch."

"I will not lose a valuable business partner because he finds that I had his child needlessly murdered. No, we will wait and see what happens..."

Remy carefully backed away from the railing. Once sure neither the mercenary nor Herzog would take notice, he fled the balcony area and maneuvered through the Concorde Saint Lazare's elegant corridors. Adrenaline pumped through his veins prolifically as his mind whirred with plans. His task had just gotten more complicating.

-----------

The lobby was not as bustling as it was two hours ago, though many guests continued to check into the hotel. Most of the clerks were veteran hotel workers while only a handful were youth lucky or skilled enough to be employed by such an eminent facility. Remy scanned the various workers until he spotted a plausible target. She only had one party of customers in line. Remy quickly, but subtly, approached.

"Thank you for choosing the Concorde Saint Lazare," the blond angel was saying, ivory teeth nearly gleaming behind falsely smiling lips. She handed the tourists their room keys. "The bellhop over there shall take your bags. Enjoy your stay in Paris, Mr. and Mrs. Donnahue."

"Merci," the man thanked her, though it came out as "mer-sigh".

Remy noticed her roll her eyes once the guests turned their backs. She turned to look at the large wall-clock behind her: nine-fifty-seven. The hour was not too late, though Remy could see her weariness, mostly from boredom. She had to have been checking people in and out all day, loathing them for having enough clout to stay at such a lavish hotel while she worked as a lowly clerk. What she probably wouldn't give to be one of those glamorous women in Gucci and Armani, to be holding the arm of a handsome aristocrat while others gazed at her enviously.

"Bonjour Madamoiselle."

She looked up, startled by the gorgeously debonair face before her. She remained composed, "Qui, Monsieur?" She saw that he couldn't have been any older than eighteen, probably five years her junior, but no less striking. She noticed him glance briefly at her nametag.

"'Diana' doesn' look like a French name, cherie," Remy smiled.

At first she did not seem to understand what he said, confused by the switch in language; she looked captivated by his strangely-tinted brown eyes. Realizing that she was staring, she quickly responded, "My mother was British."

"What a coincedence," the young man smiled. He leaned forward on the polished countertop, "I know someone from dere, one o' m'pals from de island o'Jersey." He smiled disarmingly.

Diana seemed confused and entranced. Remy sensed giddiness rising from her fluttery stomach, a stimulation she probably had not felt since last having a man. Remy knew the effects of his charm, pulling her into a calmly blissful lull while she lost recognition for all else. She suddenly blinked and cleared her throat, trying to fight away the unwarranted feeling. "I'm sorry, sir," she said, "did you want to check in? We have some...um...single-bed rooms available..." She watched as he brushed a few strands of hair out of his eyes, awed by the absurd sexiness of the simple gesture. He was just a kid--but he seemed so manly, especially in that tailored suit and classically aristocratic top hat "...and they're of the highest luxury in, uh, Paris...perfect for a solitary tourist looking for the finest of accomodations--"

He chuckled, his smile causing Diana to draw in a sharp breath of excitement. "S'nice t'see y'know so much 'bout y'hotel, but I don' need t'hear de whole brochure, mon cherie. Y'can do me a big favor, though, an' give me an extra key. I left it in my room."

Diana sheepishly looped a strand of gold hair behind her ear. "Of course, sir. Name please?"

"Lamar Darcenaux."

Her fingers paused over the computer keys. She looked at him suspiciously, "_The_ Lamar Darcenaux? I'm afraid you're a bit...premature for such an identity, sir."

Remy took off his top hat and spun it on his hand. He made sure to look impressed that she had practically accused him of fraud. "Mais, I can see s'hard t'fool you, Madamoiselle, if dat was m'intent. But non, Lamar Darcenaux _senior_ est mon prere. M'de lowly child tryin' t'measure up t'his greatness." He turned up the charm, hoping to distract her from protocol.

"I was not aware that he had a son," Diana said, tapping away at her computer terminal.

"Y'know de ways of businessmen, like t'be discreet."

"I've seen your sister though. She is gorgeous."

"Sure, sure, a fine specimen," Remy said, "but I've seen prettier hotel clerks." He smiled as she blushed at the compliment. If truth be told, he rather enjoyed making women feel good and giddy. Their reactions to his charms were priceless.

"All right, Monsieur Darcenaux. I'll just need some form of photo identification."

"Dat's de problem, cherie, I left all dat in m'wallet, where m'keycard is, too."

Diana frowned, "I'm sorry, sir, but I cannot give you the key without proper identification."

Remy leaned forward a bit, focusing his gaze on her eyes, "Y'sure y'can't make an exception dis once for me, p'tite? I'd greatly 'preciate it."

A smile curved her lips and she sighed softly. She swallowed, said huskily, "Um...I suppose just this once..." After a few more taps on her computer, she handed him a keycard. "You can return that once you have relocated your original one," she informed him, eyes still dreamily glossy.

"Can do, an' merci boucoup mon bella cherie." He held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary, intent on heigtening her blissful experience from his charm. Then, he smiled and left the lobby without looking back.

-----------

Not surprisingly, the suite was penthouse and extravagantly large. Remy slipped inside unnoticed. He saw no security guards; neither Genevieve nor her father resided within. Frowning, Remy moved through the suite's many rooms, opening doors and searching. He entered the spacious bathroom and turned on the lights. Cheerfully floral decorations reflected the light and beamed at him obnoxiously. He was about to leave when something moved in the mirror. Without warning the hazy shower door slammed open, knocking him against the sink counter from behind. A harsh foot smashed his hand to the sink while an arm hooked around his throat, a hand twisting his free arm painfully parallel to his back. He stared at his attacker in the mirror, watched her gold-speckled brown eyes widen in surprise, then annoyance.

"Mon Dieu!" Genevieve spat. "What the hell are you doing here? How did you get in?"

"If y'loosen de choke-hold, I might be able t'tell y'."

She wrung his neck tighter, "How about you tell me anyway."

Remy smirked despite himself and stuck his foot between her legs, pulling her legs in from behind the knee. She buckled backwards with a surprised shriek. Her hold loosened and he twisted free, spinning around and latching onto her before she hit the floor. In one swift motion, he shoved her against the wall, pinning her arms and legs with his own. It was then he realized she wore only a silken oriental robe; he pressed so close he could feel the seams of her lingerie through the fine material.

"Lil' paranoid, p'tite?"

Genevieve struggled against him defiantly. As skilled as she was, his strength overwhelmed her own. She sighed breathlessly against his cheek, the gold of her eyes flashing wrathfully, "What do you want, Guischard?"

"Can't 'member right now. Have t'say, though, m'not complainin' 'bout our coordination here."

"You uncouth bastard," she glared. "If you came for the jewel, you are wasting your time. I am not going to tell you where it is."

"So y'admit, y'did steal it."

She rolled her eyes, "You already deduced that, imbecile. It doesn't matter what you say or do, the l'Etoile du Tricherie will not be yours because I will not--" She ceased talking as he released his hold. Obviously surprised, she stared at him suspiciously. She did not move away from his close proximity.

"I didn' come fo'de stone, cherie. Herzog's goons are comin' after y'. Somehow he knows what y'did an' he ain't gon' bend over an' let y'keep it."

"That's impossible. I never leave behind any clues."

"One o'his hired mercenaries sniffed y'out," Remy said. "I've got no reason t'lie, Genny. Dey're coming."

"And you went through all this trouble just to come and warn me?" she demanded incredulously.

_'Course not,_ Remy thought, but said, "Tend t'protect de interests o'dose I like." He must have sounded convincing, as Genevieve's eyes softened and she frowned in confusion.

"I do not understand why you would," she said. "Everyone wants something for themselves."

Remy surprised himself by taking her hand and stroking the fine skin. "Yeah, I do, but we can talk 'bout dat over a real dinner some night." He smiled and brushed a strand of hair, loose from her sexily disheveled bun, from her eyes. Dieu, she _was_ a fine specimen. And so young, as well, no way beyond his eighteen years. Had anyone yet tasted her blossoming womanhood? It did not seem likely, judging from her seemingly intense distrust for men. How inviting it was, the notion of being the one to have her first.

She mistook his intent gaze for sincerity and care. He wasn't even charming her yet, never realizing how effective an actor he could be. "Listen, Guischard--"

"Remy."

"Remy, I appreciate the concern but I am perfectly capable of handling this on my own. So if you do not mind--"

A sharp knock sounded from the front of the suite. Genevieve sharply turned towards the noise. She glanced doubtfully back at Remy, "How many?"

"Three while I was snoopin', but dey could've gotten more."

"Madamoiselle Darcenaux! Ouvre la porte!" _Open the door!_

Genevieve knotted the cords of her robe as she stalked out of the bathroom. Remy followed, "What are y'gon' do?"

"I cannot take a whole band of them," Genevieve scowled. "And I doubt they've come to interrogate peacefully. If anything, they will drag me to Herzog himself."

"An' where's tu prere?"

"Business as always. Besides, he does not know of my...hobby. I prefer to keep it so."

Remy looked around the room for possible exits. He preferred to avoid a full confrontation. "Dere another way out?"

The knocking became pounding.

Genevieve nodded, "Yes, my father's room--"

The door suddenly swung open. Much to his surprise, Remy noticed a keycard in one of the men's hands. Before he could think to react, Genevieve had grabbed a chair and smashed it against the foremost goon's head. He toppled backwards into his companions, rendering them all to disorientation.

"Come on!" Genevieve darted through the suite and Remy hurried to follow. They entered Lamar's room and barred the door shut just as many bodies collided into it. Herzog's men rammed the door until it creaked noisily in protest.

Genevieve wasted no time bursting out into the hall, and in nothing but lingerie and a wispy robe. Despite the rather alarming situation, she took the time to tighten and straighten her hair bun.

"No time f'dat," Remy said and yanked her forward by the arm.

"I am not--" She jerked free, "--following you without a plan."

They stood in the empty hall, staring at each other intently. "Y'don' trust me," Remy said.

Genevieve huffed.

"Y'know, Genny, I don' recall doin' anyt'ing t'deserve suspicion. If dere's anyone who looks shady, s'you."

"First off, do not call me 'Genny'. And secondly, I don't care what you think or how you may judge me..." Her words trailed away as Herzog's men wandered out into the hall. She grabbed Remy and shoved him forward as she took off at a run.

They darted down the elegant corridor, Herzog's men close in heated pursuit. They shoved past startled Concorde Saint Lazare guests, knocking aside bellhops and room service carts. Herzog's men gradually covered the space between them. Remy felt adrenaline rush through his veins; running was not his style. He reached into his suit pocket and snatched a few cards. Igniting them with his magic touch, he tossed them over his shoulder.

Minor explosions erupted in the hall, followed by the stunned howls of Herzog's goons and the terrified shriekes of guests. Almost immediately afterwards, the sprinklers on the penthouse floor turned on.

Genevieve glanced back in surprise as water droplets bombarded her. "What happened?"

"Nevermind!"

They turned the corner just as a room service cart was being pushed into the hall. Genevieve collided with the hotel worker, both of them sprawling into a mess on the floor. The man did not appear too displeased though very stunned. "M-Madamoiselle Darcenaux--tu..." he stuttered.

Remy pulled Genevieve to her feet and shoved her into the suite the server had just exited. No sooner had he taken a step over the threshold did large hands grab him from behind. He felt himself jerked backwards and slammed into a wall. Quickly regaining balance, he ducked and barely missed a well-aimed punch.

Herzog's lackey pounded the wall, then howled in pain. Now in a rage, he lunged at Remy, the raining water etching grotesque lines down his soot-covered face.

Remy adroitly dodged the blows. He wanted this over with to avoid getting completely drenched from the sprinklers; if anything, fighting Herzog's minion was being a nuisance. Using the man's momentum against him, Remy dodged a sloppy right hook, and grabbing the fist, jerked the man forward to launch a skull-rattling punch to his temple. He fell to the floor as reinforcements arrived. Acting with a near-impossible speed, Remy snatched several plates from the room service cart and charged them. Herzog's lackeys did not know what blew up in their faces.

Genevieve grabbed the collar of Remy's suit and jerked him into the suite, slamming the door shut. "How can you do that?" she demanded, eyes flashing.

"You're a smart girl. Figure it out."

She continued to gape at him.

Remy suddenly noticed the startled old couple, the guests of the suite into which they intruded. He recognized them from downstairs, the Americans that checked in with the blond clerk he had charmed. "Beg y'pardon, mes amis," he said, "s' only momentary."

Outside, Herzog's men pounded on the door, shouting in their native language that Remy and Genevieve were murderous villains at large.

"What--what are they saying?" Mr. Donnahue asked, clinging tightly onto his wide-eyed wife.

"Not'ing y'really wan' hear," Remy said, waving it off with nonchalance. He looked around for something to barricade the door with. "Jus' sit tight an' we'll be gone 'for y'know it."

Genevieve squeezed the sides of her head and released a growl of frustration. "This was not supposed to happen!" she exclaimed, and stalked towards the balcony. Throwing open the sliding door, she stepped out and leaned so far over the balustrade that Remy thought she was suicidal.

"Miss!" Mrs. Donnahue had the decency to shout. "Be careful!"

Remy noticed how Genevieve's robe fluttered along her thighs from the night breeze. He was almost embarassed for noticing such a thing at such a time. "Got an idea, p'tite?" he asked, joining her on the balcony.

"There's no way down," she said with strange resignation. "I cannot believe this. There is no way to escape. I always have a way to escape."

"First rule of a thief," Remy stated. Without a second thought, he began loosening his dress shirt. He reached the utility belt of his Thieves uniform beneath and opened one of the flaps.

Genevieve remained unfazed as he revealed a grappling hook. She glanced at the instrument then climbed precariously onto the balustrade. Mrs. Donnahue shrieked from within the suite.

"What if they're fugitives or something?" Mr. Donnahue said to his wife. "What if those guys outside are the French police?"

"Howard, they don't _look_ dangerous..."

"I'm opening the door."

Remy launched the spike into the hotel's exterior wall. It stuck without yielding an inch. He hooked the grapple onto his utility belt and climbed onto the balustrade. Genevieve immediately latched onto him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs about his waist.

"Do not disappoint me, Remy," she breathed against his throat.

"Never do, cherie."

Herzog's men burst into the suite.

Remy leapt from balustrade. Genevieve gripped him tighter as they quickly descended the height of the hotel. Balcony after balcony passed them by, until suddenly the grapple jerked violently. Remy grunted from the horrible yank upwards, struggled to re-position himself. Genevieve gasped and nearly lost her grip. "What's wrong?" she rasped.

"Dis t'ing's not as long as de Lazare is high, p'tite," Remy said, nearly amused. "We'll jus' have t'improvise..." He kicked up and planted his feet on the hotel's wall. Working up the momentum, he pushed off until they swung around, headed directly for a window.

Genevieve did not scream as they crashed through the glass. Remy unhooked the grapple just in time, and they both sprawled back into the hotel. Genevieve crawled to her feet, located the light switch. Fate had been kind to them: they had landed in a storage closet. "Now, let's hope they do catch us this far in the chase."

Remy opened the door, "Ladies first."

-----------

The streets of Paris were anything but desolate, especially in the social hour of the night. Youthful Parisians strolled the sidewalks hand in hand, while eager tourists amassed before internationally famous landmarks. The Eiffel Tower plaza was no exception; with its star-like bulbs and colored lights scintillating against the darkness, there was no other appropriate status save being one of the seven wonders of the modern world.

Genevieve strolled nonchalantly through the plaza, Remy's suit jacket wrapped around her slender shoulders. She tightened her hair bun once again and tucked away loose strands. No one took notice of her thin robe or bare feet.

"Where we headed?" Remy asked. He constantly assessed their surroundings, making sure no one from the hotel was tailing them.

"My flat, just on the outskirts of the plaza."

"Must've paid a high price fo'dat locale."

"Money has never been an issue. I do not stay there year-round anyway, only while I am in Paris."

"Den why bother wit' a hotel room?"

"Work. All my papers are still in the suite. There were many seminars and conventions this weekend, besides the auction."

Remy nodded, then asked, "Y'family doesn' live here?"

Genevieve's eyes clouded over. She looked around at all the seemingly carefree people, posing for pictures, making happy memories that would last them a lifetime. "No," she finally said. "I do not really have a home anywhere, only exquisite apartments in many countries. Even the States--San Diego, Houston, Atlanta. My mother lives in her personal villa in Venice. She and my father do not speak."

"Why do y'have t'travel so much?"

"I work for the infamous Lamar Darcenaux. Traveling is in the job description."

"But y'still so young."

"I have a knack for business."

"An' for sneaking rare jewels from under a whole auction hall o' noses."

"Let us say this life is not as satisfying as most would think. A girl needs her excitement, though I have to admit I've had enough tonight to last a while."

Remy continued walking in silence. He noted how peaceful the night was, despite the earlier brawl not too far away. The Concorde Saint Lazare was only a few blocks from the Eiffel Tower. He scanned the area once again, sensing that somebody was watching them. For a split second, he thought he saw dark sunglasses, a blond ponytail in the crowd--

"You are a mutant, aren't you."

Remy turned to look at her. She kept her gaze forward. "Not hard t'tell by now."

"I have never met a mutant before. My father detests your kind."

"My kind's de same as yours, cherie. De sooner you an' de rest o'de world realizes dat, de better off we'll all be."

"I never said _I_ hated mutants. I just hear about you people in the news nearly every morning, reminds me of how the world is changing. Changing too quickly." Genevieve hugged herself. After a few footsteps heavy with silence, she said, "Are you a thief, too? Or just a professional brook?"

"I could be many t'ings, Genny."

"Don't try to be mysterious now. I saw that suit under your tux." She stopped walking, turning to face him, "Did you plan on stealing the l'Etoile du Tricherie as well? Tell me honestly."

Remy looked at her, received the urge to kiss those pouty lips. "No," he said, "wasn' 'bout t'pull a heist dat risky. I was dere for de priceless antiques. An' de other, less famous jewelry, too. Have t'say, y'were more distracting dan I would've liked."

Genevieved frowned. She seemed to be searching his face for the real answers, but didn't seem to find them as she shook her head and continued walking. "I do not understand you, whether it is because you are American or just a blasted fool."

"Dis de gratitude I get for saving y'neck?"

"And why did you?" Genevieve snapped. She walked faster in her provoked state, shoving past ignorant tourists. "You do want the l'Etoile du Tricherie. I am the only one who knows its location and that is why you are following me right now, waiting for the opportunity to pump for the information. Isn't that accurate?"

"Maybe dis's jus' one t'ief bein' helpful to another."

Genevieve snorted.

"An' maybe I jus' like y'dat much. Maybe m'trying t'make sure I get t'see you another day." Remy paused and studied her expression, wondering if his words worked, however false they may be.

Darcenaux's daughter seemed to soften. She slowed her pace, hugged herself again, sighed. "I started young, you know. I guess most people do. I was eleven. Petty shoplifting at first, but that was when I began learning how to do it well and not be caught." Her walk lagged to a stand; she tilted her head up to gaze at the Eiffel Tower. "I bought equipment and body suits, started practicing breaking into my father's vault. He still does not know." She laughed dryly, "And now it is the only thing I look forward to...why do we even do this..." She shook her head, eyes glancing at him for a brief second. "And there you stand, probably thinking 'Poor little rich girl. What could she know about misery?'"

Remy decided it was appropriate to take her hand. He weaved his fingers through hers and gave them a comforting squeeze. "Y'wrong 'bout dat, cherie. 'Sides, de way I see it, y'got t'be who y'are, without pretending. But m'guess is you steal for de rush an' peril, not 'cause y'really want to. S'not enough sometimes."

Genevieve closed her eyes and breathed. "It was before."

"Y'know what else?" Remy said, pulling her closer. "I think y'wan' get caught. I think y'waiting fo'someone t'catch y'in de act, jus' so dey'll see how unhappy y'are, jus' for de hope dat someone might care 'nough t'help." For a brief second, he debated the ethics of playing on her emotions. But like Jean-Luc had taught him many times in the past, "De ends justifies de means."

She said nothing for a while, staring silently at the towering Eiffel. She started walking again, tugging him along. A smile had graced her pretty features, her eyes glowing in the warm light. "Are all Cajuns as charming as you, Monsieur Guischard?"

"Dey try."

Genevieve chuckled, hooking her arm through his. Together they walked through the plaza, almost like a romantic couple, however fashioned by unconcerned deceit and falsehood.

-------------

Remy was on fire. He tried to focus on the inanimate objects within Genevieve's flat--the stone sculptures, the oriental wall fans, the red-shaded lamps... He would soon go mad. He had never had to wait so long or try so hard before, and this girl had enticed him beyond linguistic expression. If truth be told, he cared little about her mental or emotional state, seeing only the supple curves of her toned body. He stood frozen then, outwardly calm and patient, as she coyly unbuttoned his dress shirt. All the while her lips explored his jaw and throat, teeth nipping at his ear. In a single, swift motion, she tore off the shirt, revealing the body-fitted Thieves' uniform beneath. Her palms traveled along his chest, up over his shoulders, until her fingers grasped the zipper. She pulled it down halfway then released her hold. She tugged him towards the bedroom.

Two feet from the door Remy briefly lost control. God, he wanted her. His mouth found hers in frenzied passion, allowing his overworking hormones to propel his actions. He crushed her body against his, tugging at the flimsy robe but never loosening it.

Genevieve caught his fever. Her fingers tore at his uniform until she had pulled it aside, revealing his built torso underneath. She gasped as he attacked her throat, pulling her up against him with firm command. In only a few seconds, she had unbuckled his pants and pulled his uniform loose.

They stumbled into the bedroom, clawing at his each other almost madly.

Remy drank her in. Her mouth tasted sweet, her body felt heated and ready for his taking. Smoothing away her robe, he revealed sexy black lingerie, lacy and minimally covering in all the right places. His mouth traversed from her mouth to her chest, his lips feeling along the fine skin. She tugged him closer, wrapped her legs around his waist in ardent need. Her breath came rugged, coarse with arousal. She pushed him onto the bed, crawled into his lap. As he unbuckled her bra, she said, "I want to show you something."

Ever so seductively, she reached up and unlooped the bands in her hair. The bun fell apart, rich locks of brown tumbling down her back. She revealed the l'Etoile du Tricherie itself, dangling from a chain, glimmering a bloody crimson in the faded light of the bedroom. All that time, it had been hidden within her hair, tied within her messy bun.

Remy glanced at it for only an instant, wondering why she was showing it to him. Did she already trust him enough for that? He could have clapped himself on the back for winning a girl over so quickly, and a thief probably just as conniving and sly as himself, too. He was getting better at the game.

Genevieve looked at him expectantly. Remy smiled, snatched the jewel from her hand. She gasped but did not move to retrieve it, gold-striated eyes prodding deep into his. He let the l'Etoille du Tricherie fall from his grasp. It thudded softly against the carpeted floor.

Genevieve smiled, kissing him with renewed vigor. They fell back on the bed, tangled within each other, lost in desire. Genevieve gave all of herself, and Remy did not hesitate to take; he left nothing behind.

----------

The night reached its full maturity, lit by the ghostly rays of an eye-like moon. Its silver beams coated the room in dull grey; the slumbering girl on the bed, barely concealed by her silken sheets, shone palely from the moon's attention.

Remy pulled on his suit jacket, making sure he had not forgotten anything. The l'Etoile du Tricherie lay in his palm, glowing red despite the pale pallor of the room. Its darkly jovial gleam seemed to congratulate him on a job well done. Not only had he accomplished his task, he had managed to exact some self-satisfaction as well. He glanced briefly at Genevieve; she was fast asleep.

Slipping the jewel into a compartment on his utility belt, he left the flat and headed for his hotel.

Remy walked with a skip to his step; he had never felt more proud of himself. Beguiling the femmes usually took longer without the use his powers, but he had not only done that, he had gained the girl's complete trust and snuck the l'Etoile du Tricherie from right under her sleeping nose. The whole task had been enjoyable, much more satisfying than pilfering it from the gorilla Herzog. Now all that remained to be done was fly out of France that night and present the Guild Elders with the rock. The sooner the whole ordeal was over, the sooner Remy could return to life as he knew and liked.

Though it was well into the night, Henri would not be asleep. Remy approached their room, keycard in hand, but found that he would not need it. The door was slightly ajar. He frowned, knowing Henri was not one to be so careless. His muscles grew tense; a card flicked into his palm and became charged. Without a moment's hesitation, he threw open the door, ready for any onslaught.

None came.

Remy observed with keen senses. Obvious signs of struggle screamed from every upturned chair and broken table in the room. How could an intruder apprehend Henri? The man was a veteran Thief, a more-than-able fighter. The attacker had to have been formidable, or strong, or tricky--perhaps all three.

Remy clenched his jaw and uncharged his card. He did not need to search the other rooms; he knew Henri was not there. Neither was the intruder. The only thing that could speak was a scrawled note lying in the middle of the floor. Remy did not bother to pick it up as he read the words: _Eiffel Tower, midnight. Bring the rock or both will die._

---------

Genevieve woozily half-opened her eyes. Her hair brushed against her face by the night's cool breeze. Memories of the night's lovemaking returned to her, causing a warmth to expel through her limbs. She smiled faintly and murmured, "Remy?"

"Not quite, p'tite."

She suddenly realized she was dangling by her arms. Her eyes widened, saw a drop of hundreds of feet below her hanging legs. She gasped and looked around in bewilderment. Her hands were tied together by several knots of rope, the ends of which she could not see as they angled over a steel beam. She was covered only by her robe, crudely tied about her waist.

"Not 'xactly de way I would've wanted t'enjoy de Eiffel."

Genevieve's eyes flashed at the man hanging beside her. She noted his acute mustache and shaved head, regarding him as though he were mad. "Who are you?" she hissed. "Who did this? Was it Herzog?"

"Non, wasn' de boss man himself. One o'his henchman, m'guessin'."

"You--your accent...it sounds like--"

"Aye, Remy's m'brother. Taken t'him, hein? Can't blame y'. De femmes never can resist dat buck."

Genevieve squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lip. "How could I get kidnapped like this? Was Remy not there when..." Realization dawned upon her, "The l'Etoile du Tricherie! He--"

"Is going to bring it right to me," a voice above them said.

Genevieve and Henri craned their necks back to look up. A stern-faced brute, eyes hidden behind dark lenses, sneered down at them. He held the ends of the rope from which they hung, seemingly exerting no effort in keeping his grip. "You think that boy's gonna deliver, big bro?"

Henri scowled but said nothing.

"You bastard!" Genevieve spat. "When my father is informed of this, you and Herzog will be fallayed beyond--"

The brute released a guttural laugh, so tenorous it drowned out her words. "Who's gonna tell on me, little girl? And how do you know I work for anybody? Maybe I just want the rock for myself."

Genevieve bristled, her eyes losing their warmth and flashing venomously. "I saw you at the auction! You were at Herzog's side the whole time. If you think you can--"

Without warning, the man jerked her upward and tied a gag around her mouth. Her threats and shouts became muffled noises.

Unknown to the three above, a pair of smouldering red eyes glowed in the darkness below. They were demonic and otherwordly, bright from provoked anger. Fixed upon the scene above and across, they watched in silent contemplation. The mind behind those fiery orbs worked feverishly to remedy the situation.

The hulky blond brute seemed to sense the new presence. His head slowly turned its full one-hundred-eighty degrees, tilting up and down in observation. A stoic curve shaped his mouth. "Come out, Monsieur 'Guischard'," he called. "The sooner you show your ass, the sooner we get this over with."

Remy stepped out of the shadows, a small sack in his right hand. He stood upon the tower ramparts, one story below and twenty feet across from where Genevieve and Henri hung. This gave him only a small advantage.

"You bring the stone?"

Remy reached into the tiny sack and pulled out, dangling from its chain, the l'Etoile du Tricherie. The light from the Eiffel lamps reflected off its liquidly-smooth surface; its bloody hues seemed to forsee the horror to come, command and await the tribulation with eagerness.

The blond brute jiggled the rope that kept Henri and Genevieve from falling to certain death. He was inhumanly detached from the direness of the situation, indifferent about the lives he might ruin. "A'ight, here's the deal, pretty boy: Put the shiny rock back into the bag and set it down. There you go; good. Now you're gonna have a choice. See these two blood bags I got here?" He loosened his hold on the rope for a few seconds. Henri and Genevieve yelled as they fell three feet before being jerked to a stop. The brute roared in a bellowing laugh.

Remy wondered how someone could be amused by such sickness.

"It's up to you," the brute said. His glasses gleamed satanically from the Tower lights. "Do you leave your brother or young lover to die? There's only time to catch one."

_Dis ain't happenin'_. Remy glared at Herzog's mercenary, hating him for making an otherwise smooth operation difficult. He tried to ignore Genevieve's pleading eyes; they begged, prayed, no doubt asking for him to choose her. _Don't you care about me?_ he could almost hear her asking. _After all those things you said, after all we did..._ Remy wished he had the heart to tell her the truth.

"Before the show starts, though, I think it'd be interesting for you to hear something, Miss Darcenaux." The brute gave the rope a jiggle, grabbing Genevieve's attention. "Monsieur Guischard ain't all he says he is. Tell her your real name, boy."

Remy's jaw tightened. "LeBeau," he spat. "M'name's Remy LeBeau."

Genevieve stared at him in confusion, the golden brown of her eyes flashing.

"And why'd you really come to France?" the assailant continued to prod. "Tell this gullible babe why you flew all the way from America, went through all the trouble of getting a cover, of going to a high-society auction. And don't say to steal a few things. You only wanted one thing, one very expensive thing. Ain't that right?"

Remy did not answer. He stared at Genevieve, who stared right back. Her gaze was accusing though uwilling to believe the words. Stony tears welled in her piercing eyes.

The brute laughed again, though it was heartless and without mirth. "It's your show lover boy, so choose!" He released the rope.

Henri howled in surprise; Genevieve shrieked through her gag.

Remy did not waste a second. He launched a bigger, longer, and stronger grapple into the steel beams of the rampart. The other end was already fastened about his torso, tight and unyielding. Without missing a beat, he threw himself off the side of the Tower and straightened into a perfect nosedive. The air roared past his ears, whipping aside his hair, nearly blinding.

Henri and Genevieve continued to fall, limbs flailing, mouths screaming.

Remy quickly closed the distance between them. From the beginning he knew who he would choose. He could not take his eyes off Genny.

Her hair whipped against her face as she twisted about. She seemed to be fighting gravity itself, trying by some heinously impossible hope that she could make herself stop falling. Her robe slapped maliciously at her skin in its haphazard ripple from the rushing air.

Remy suddenly realized his guilt: he was condemning her to death, and all she had done was trust him.

He reached Henri and latched onto him with all limbs. For a passing moment, he caught sight of Genevieve's golden eyes--pleading, sad, betrayed--before she fell past them. The grappling line, this time more flexible, slowed their fall. One second later they were hoisted back up as the cord retracted.

Remy did not try to watch Genevieve's fall. He listened for her muffled screams, grimaced when they abruptly ceased.

"S'gon' be all right, Rem," Henri assured him. "Y'did what y't'ought was right."

They swung themselves back onto the Tower platforms. Remy unfastened the grapple and peered back up from where they had fallen. Despite how unfathomable it was, the blond brute stood where Remy had left the sack. It wasn't humanly possible to have reached that location in so short of time--he couldn't have just _jumped_ there...

"It's been fun, boy!" he shouted down to them. "I would've gone for the other one myself, but to each his own." He waved the sack before them, then disappeared into the shadows, his beastly laughter echoing along the tower.

Remy grabbed the sides of his head, closing his eyes and forcing calm. He had practically killed the girl. The blood was on his hands.

"Remy..."

"Not now, Henri."

"Yes now. Y'got t'come t'terms wit' dis, 'fore it eats y'up. Wasn' y'fault no matter how y'make of it. It couldn't be helped, one o'us dyin'. Y'happened t'choose y'brother--what dishonor is dere in dat?"

'Remy shook his head, wishing he could tell Henri just how wretched he truly was. Henri did not know how he had tricked Genny, used her, got her caught in the twisted, sadistic game of a faceless villain. He did not want to think about it. "We're gon' back," he gritted and turned to leave.

Henri hesitated a moment, glancing down at the Eiffel Tower plaza. Sadly shaking his head, he followed.

----------

The Guild was not happy with what Henri had to tell them. It did not concern them that an innocent life had been lost, only that one of their own had failed to plan accordingly, failed to follow proper Thieves' Guild procedure. As a result, the job had been sloppy and ended with needless drama. The test had not been passed.

Remy sat at the table before the Guild Elders. His father, Jean-Luc, was among them. Remy had been listening to them lecture and discuss him for hours. He cracked his knuckles and ground his teeth, angry that they did not care about the girl named Genevieve Darcenaux, angry that he _had_ been sloppy and reckless, that he had used her and, in the end, she knew it--knew it and was distraught. He wanted to feel something for her, some sort of fondness or affection, something to do justice to her memory. But he couldn't. Only the bitterness of detached guilt echoed in his mind. She had been nothing to him as a person, only a heated frolic in a typical bed, on a random night.

"De boy must be tried again," one of the Guild Elders judged. "Dis failure is of de utmost folly. He is not ready fo' de title he seeks..." The words blended together as other voices joined to agree and contest.

Without warning, Remy shot from his seat and pounded his fists on the table. The Elders were shocked into silence. "Have somet'ing t'show y'," he muttered. His fist opened, dropping a blood red stone onto the tabletop.

The Elders drew in breaths of shock. Jean-Luc narrowed his eyes. Henri shot Remy a confused look, "How did y'--it was in de bag. De man took it--"

"I switched de jewel wit' a rock from m'sleeve," Remy said, meeting no eyes. "Couldn' bear t' fail m'test, non?" Without another word he turned and left the hall. They called to him but he ignored their commands. To hell with these old men who were so quick to judge, so easy to overlook the true crime.

He realized at that moment that he could not be a Thief his whole life. Despite how they had taken him in, offered him a family, raised him--he would not succumb to their traditions and dogma. Life would be lived his way, by his rules. There had to be more out there than stealing and trickery, heists and machinations. But anywhere he went, he would not forget the blasphemy of his deed, the wretchedness of his defiled character. He would always look for redemption, but he would probably never find it...

--------

She slowly opened her eyes, shakily drawing a breath. Unable to contain so many emotions, tears fell from her cheeks, hesitant yet ample. Her hand found her temple and massaged at the ache.

"Rogue."

She suddenly remembered where she was. She looked at him, and he gave a start of surprise.

"Y'eyes," he said hoarsely, "dey look like mine." He looked a little woozy. The absorption had lasted only seconds for him; for Rogue, the experience felt like hours.

She shook her head, wiped away her tears. This was the memory, this was what she had dreaded. And it was just as bad as she feared. How could she trust him after knowing this? He played that poor girl; he played her so well that despite how smart and tough she was, she had been beguiled. She had paid with her life for trusting him. How was her situation different than Rogue's? Remy came, spoke his flirtatiously charming words. He was understanding and patient, kind and enjoyable. He behaved with her exactly the way he had with Genevieve. There was no difference; only this time, Rogue knew about his true nature. She was fortunate enough to receive a warning.

"No, no, no," she argued with her thoughts. Were they even hers? She could not tell anymore. Part of Remy was still within her, would always be within her, whispering self-deprecating words about himself, feeding her details about how loathsome he was. Did he despise himself that much?

She felt his guilt, his sorrow for past deeds, his will to change. She wanted to hold him and make everything go away. They could erase each other's pains.

But no--he was probably deceiving her like he did Genny. All this time he had to have a motive for being so kind, so giving, so sacrificial and selfless. Why did he leave her, only to come back so many times? Why was he so kind and complimenting? Why did he almost die for her? What was he trying to get? It was a master scheme, one only Le Diable Blanc could come up with, could be so heartless to enact.

Rogue gasped in consternation. "Oh, God...Ah can't--no..." she whimpered to herself.

"Chere?" Remy placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't," she hissed, crawling away from him.

Remy felt as though he had been slapped. He saw the look she gave him; it mirrored every thought of repulsion and condemnation he felt for himself. Anger flared inside once he realized his greatest fear was reality. Then it quickly passed. She was not to blame. He deserved her disgust. He could not expect her to trust him after what he did. The situations were very similar. Rogue was smart; she would draw the parallels and she would be wary.

"M'sorry," he said for its own sake.

Rogue clamped a hand over her mouth. "She--she cared about you. Ya gave her somethin' nobody else did and...and she trusted. She trusted..." Her hair fell over her eyes as she bowed her head. "How could you, Remy?"

He stood from the Danger Room floor, calmly pulled on the robe. He ignored the stabs of pain in his chest. "Because dere was a job t'be done," he said truthfully. "An' far as I knew den, de ends justified de means."

Rogue stared at him, certainly doubtful on how to take that statement. An indescrible emotion on her face--abhorrence? Shock? Fear? Pity? Her eyes were slowly returning to their comforting green, but she was no longer looking at him. "Ah don't know what to think," she murmured. "Ah'm not sure this solved anything."

"Y'do what y't'ink is right, chere," Remy said. "Dat's all anyone can ever expect." He turned towards the door, wishing she could call for him to stop, hoping that she might forgive. She remained silent, a meek figure in the center of the Danger Room. He reached the doors as they swished open before him, paused. Maybe in a few seconds she would...

Nothing.

Remy clenched his jaw, tried not to feel so dispirited. He walked out of the Danger Room and the doors closed behind him.

* * *

**Whew! For a while there I completely forgot the real plot of this fic, all absorbed in Remy's doings in Paris. Hope you guys didn't lose focus! **This didn't really end on a good note, but if things get down, they can do nothing but get back up, right? Or maybe that's the other way around. We'll see.

**And yeah, yeah the "uncanny blond brute" was Sabertooth** and about the ponytail and shades, well, Remy would not do well working with the man as an Acolyte if he knew he was the one responsible for his guilt, right? And Remy still doesn't know that it was Sabertooth because the incident in Paris was years ago--Remy's changed, more stuff to think about, so he doesn't completely remember the killer, and Sabertooth's changed as well, become rougher, tougher, and meaner. But Sabertooth recognizes who Remy is, that's why he's not so crazy about him--but since he is really just a bloodthirsty, amoral animal, he can toss aside his past with Remy and work as an Acolyte.


	34. Heal

**Happy New Year everyone**! I hope you were all safe and didn't suffer from atrocious hangovers the next morning! **But back to what you all care about...the last chapter **was left at a not-so-happy note but hopefully this one will give more cheer.And I've gotten so many great reviews from all of you......I am really terrified now of disappointing you guys. Pray that I don't go on some crazy whim and ruin this fic.

Does this seem to be getting redundant to you all? I mean, it's like fight, make-up, fight, make-up between Rogue and Gambit--which is all I ever see about these two! Or maybe that's what keeps us hooked to them. Hard to say.

**Totally Obsessed47: **That's all you had to say???? I'm hurt, after all that effort...nah, I'm just kiddin'. Glad you enjoyed it. **Kuro-Ookami:** I detected a note of sarcasm there. Granted, I am a bit defensive, but antagonism after the first chapter is shortsighted! But mmm...the title is quite unoriginal, now that you pointed it out--but I just liked the sound of it and it fits for the story, which is quite very original. **Ishandahalf:** Good for you on checking in on Christmas! Mine was boring, hope yours went well--and glad you enjoyed the "gift". I got wrapped up in the story-within-a-story, too--very strange experience--I seriously forgot what was _supposed_ to be writing about. And are you writing another story or what?? I'm totally deprived here. Whatever happened to that one thing you and melacholic were working on? **Chica De Los Ojos Cafe:** Hmmm, I don't recall the name SCaligirlHK--it's hard to keep track of all you guys, not that I'm complaining. Yes, Gambit and Sabertooth have a past, though Gambit is consciously unaware and Sabertooth is just a spiteful SOB. Isn't he just the creepiest guy ever? **Freak87:** Seriously, you never case to impress with your analytical viewpoints of this fic. I think I've said this before, but I'm guessing you write great essays/papers on books, you know, those literary critique kinds--especially if you read into it as much as it seems like you would. Yes, Annabel and Genevieve both fell without help, and this gives way for Rogue to be able to speak to Remy. Oh, and you make _complete_ sense! **Sweety8587: **Unconscious analysis! LOL, when you say things like that, makes me wish I knew you in person and that you were a friend of mine--talk about having an interesting person around! Great stuff. Thank you, by the way--I felt like I overdid some parts and underdid others, but I'm glad you liked this chapter. Hey! You're right about Genevieve being in thieving circles and not having heard of Remy--but do we know that now? That didn't occur to me, but if you look at the story, there isn't time to speculate that. Genny just stares at him after finding out his name; maybe I should have described it as a sort of "realization" or something, but y'know, she _could_ have recognized who he was afterwards? I'm just giving myself an out.lol. **GothikStrawberry: **First: I think we're all suckers for the happy endings--but the tragic ends are the ones that stick with us for a while, y'know? Funny how that is. Second: Glad to supply the goodness! And hope you had a good holiday season! **Marakida: **Where have I seen your penname before? It wasn't on looks familiar...Hmm. Well, I don't know if Rogue will forgive Remy...I mean, that's kind of inexcusable, what he did, how he did it, how he couldn't even care... Haha, sorry, I enjoy angst too much. But I mean, the title of this chapter hints as to what'll happen, yeah? **Orion Kohaishu:** Awe? I do not know how to thank, so I guess I'll just have to settle with the cliche, typical reply. :-P It really makes a writer happy to see that people think her work is "amazing and beautifully written". And that you say I gave it a good emotional and human side, I had aimed for that, so I am _very_ glad that worked out. Quite honestly, I thought I had overdone some parts and underdone others--very relieved it wasn't a blunder. **Epona04:** Funny how your single sentence expresses all I need to know about the chapter. Thanks! Hope you had a fun holiday. **Allie:** Did I write that "...die of not fulfilling a destiny or whatever" because that _is_ funny, the "or whatever", hahaha. Don't know what was going through my head. Tried it--and the fluff chain of words can't roll on my tongue! **IceAngel46:** You read it all in one sitting? How do you do it! Don't worry about updates. They come as quicker than most. **Flowerperson:** Black lab with amber eyes?? That's so Remy-ish! Okay, I'm officially a freak. But hey, that's a really cool name for a dog, but didn't your parents or anyone think it was off for you to be calling your dog "Demon", lol? Whatever, demons aren't all bad, yeah? God, I hate Sabertooth too, almost as much as I can't stand that Emma Frost/White Queen character. **Enchanted light:** hi, had a good holiday? Good...thanks! Lol, I'm running out of things to say to you. **Nimbio:** That's impressive, seeing as how this story is frickin' long! Do your eyes hurt? Hope not. **Lelann:** Cool name, sounds like a city in some country somewhere. Jeez, that was vague. Yeah, so fun I completely forgot what I was writing about for a while. **Kendokao:** Pasts suck. So do memories--especially when they're embarassing or harrowing, like in Remy's case. But we can't live without 'em I suppose... Role playing sounds like fun--like acting without any pressure, and you actually get to be who you kind of "are"? Well, at least that's my take on it. **Raven001:** Every time I see your penname, I get confused, thinking it's mine at first so I think, "What the hell, did I review my own story?" And then I see the numbers and yeah, w/e. **MidniteAngelGoth:** Her is who? Rogue or Genny? Genny loved him, sort of. Rogue can't toss aside her previous feelings so easily, we hope. Glad you're enjoying this--more to come! **SickmindedSucker: **Intrigue is definitely a good thing. I have to admit, I got seriously carried away with "Passage"--it was not meant to be so long or so detailed. Remy was supposed to meet the gal, do her, then choose Henri and let her die. But oh the interest of complications was too hard to resist. Makes me all warm and happy to see that people _need_ to know what's gonna happen--it's what every author wants to hear. Hmm, "fantabulously"--interesting wordchoice, though it's probably pseudo, yeah? **Aprilangel413:** That'd kinda suck if I just ended it that way. Hahaha, what a funny thought. Yeah, it _was_ long, wasn't it? Phew, I really don't want to do that again. **CatStar14:** I think looking Genny up would give a little more insight, but there's not that much out there about her. She actually seems kind of annoying, now that I think about it, bc my spin on her was different than what she really is, I think, but w/e. I find it amusing that the ending disappointed you. That's what I always hope to do with the angst. **Allimba: **I thought I explained this in the chapter, but maybe this will be clearer: Gambit wanted Rogue to absorb his memories instead of him telling her bc (1) It'll be easier (2) It won't leave anything out for judgment (3) Rogue will see that he's earnest and trying to be truthful. And yeah, it is sort of him trying to show her his feelings, but we're not ready to say the word "love" yet. Did that explain it more? Reread the chapters for clarification. I was careful to make sure I explained things. **Proud Mary:** I do not mind long reviews _at all._ If anything, I prefer them--gives opportunity to know a little more about the reviewer. Thank you thank you thank you--your comments came across as objective, yet praising, and I appreciate it. I've read a few fics myself and only a few have seemed to stay true to the characters, so in writing my fic, I was very particular about realism. Character development, faithfulness to fans, context, and characters--what can I say, I try. Thanks again. **Possessor of the X Gene:** Oh my, I think I actually might have overlooked something! I was reading up on , and I _knew_ it was Notre Dame, but for some reason I subconsciously liked it better as the Eiffel Tower so I made it that instead without even realizing the switch. Ironic... But hey, it's Evo verse, you're right, all's go. And I just _had_ to make a mention of Jersey bc you seriously enlightened me on that geographic fact. Couldn't help myself. Glad you enjoyed it. **Kitty-mm:** Hon, you can dislike any chapter you want, but you have to understand that plot needs development; this fic isn't just going to one great Romy-fluffy-love hyperbole. I absolutely loathe the stories that have these two characters go completely out of character and fall in love like in a crazy, unpractical romance novel. Granted, "Passage" was very long, but if you had to have gotten something out of it (like insight on Remy's past persay), even if you didn't like it "at all". **Cheers Darlin:** I don't know what to say, your review really made me smile big. Nice to be adored, I have to say. ;-) I'm glad you think the story is original. I was afraid that I had read so many Rogue/Gambit stories that they had rubbed off on me--and I can't stand the idea of being some plaguerist. Very good to know I'm writing this right! A cult, really? That's never occurred to me, but hey, it's a crazy world. Thank you for liking my character portrayal. So many fics make these two go way out of character, doing and thinking things that just don't seem _them._ So I try and I try and hopefully I've succeeded. **Shockgoddess:** hey you! I was wondering when you'd eventually review, being one of the my most loyal readers, as it is. Seriously, your comments made me really smile, just as much as the previous reviewer's review. You guys are great. And I am totally flattered that you would say "the happenings in Paris...are better than what Marvel did"--because that is seriously the highest compliment I could get about this lil' fic of mine. Maybe I should send in a resume and go write for them? How great would that be! **EmeraldKatsEye:** Yes, yes, that intuition can become burdensome, especially with foresight to bad happenings. But, when things are depressing, they can only get better, right? **Nightshade:** Thanks! I promise to read your fic once I figure out exactly where and what it is! Please, can tell me again? Sorry, I'm not usually this out of it. **Lady Godiva:** Exactly the point--who _wouldn't_ have chosen their brother? And yes, it was insanely wrong how he used Genny, but it wouldn't have been as wrong if she didn't end up dying. Nobody really cares if some dude sleeps a girl and leaves the same night, right? Then she goes and gets killed and he couldn't help her and so the guilt comes and it's all...bad. Sometimes I'm very apathetic, too, and I still don't know whether that's good or bad.

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Clouds had been billowing throughout the entire day. They boiled and churned, massive formations in the sky that threatened a fusillade of raindrops and lightening. Kitty was surprised when all that fell were light showers. The formidable clouds dissipated to a soft blanket of pale grey, somewhat soothing despite their melancholy impression. The worst they could do was remind of an ending summer; warmth that would soon surrender to cold, the day to night.

Kitty sighed as she stared out the window, watching the rain gradually lessen. The sun peaked from behind thick clouds, drawing around them a silver lining. She could not help but feel that the weather was somehow linked to what was happening: the X-Men were coming out of great darkness, healing after a long period of tribulation. She suddenly released a sardonic laugh. What tribulation? She had slept through the whole ordeal.

_Only Rogue and Gambit know what happened_ she thought. _They're the ones that fought for their lives. And ours._ She bit her lip in forlorn contemplation. It seemed no matter how she tried, she could never help Rogue the way she wanted to. Her friend was a complex person, stratified by multiple psyches beneathe her own complex personality. It was no wonder her life was so riddled with hardship--so many things were going against her.

But somehow Rogue always pulled through. Kitty had to believe, that whatever outcome recent events had wrought, Rogue would be okay. Otherwise Kitty wouldn't forgive herself for not being there for Rogue in the moment of greatest need. She had this feeling that the problems with Gambit would not be solved so easily; the dread was beyond sense and reason, but it was enough girl instinct to make her worry.

Down below, at the end of the long driveway, the repaired gates slowly opened. A sleek, black limousine entered the Institute grounds, the same one that Kitty had seen only days before. Her muscles stiffened. She stood from her perch on the window sill of the upstairs living room, palms pressing against the cool glass.

The limousine pulled to a stop before the mansion doors. The driver stepped out, enduring the light drizzle without wayward expression breaking through his obedience. He pulled open one of the many passenger doors. Count Armand Velkonnen stepped out, turning his icy blue eyes to acknowledge the looming building.

Kitty scowled. She heard the doorbell, then the front door open one story below. Without any iota of reluctance, she phased part way through the floor so only her head was visible from the foyer. She hoped nobody would notice.

The Count stood in the doorway, tiny droplets of rain falling from his fedora. The Professor sat in his wheelchair with hands clasped in patient wait. As the Count gravely hung his head, he spoke in the most forlorn tone Kitty had ever heard from a man. "It haz been three days zince I found out," he said, "and I have not rested in my search." A chuckle, riddled with irony and pain, expelled from his throat, threatened to push him towards tears. "There is one good thing about zis country--you Americans know how to treat royalty. I hired ze best physicists, engineers, and aviation vorkers I could find on short notice. They combed ze Atlantic for hourz vithout end. I vould not rest and neither vould they."

The Professor frowned when the words ceased to flow. "What is it, Armand?"

"They found ze body."

Kitty noticed the Professor swallow; he hadn't been expecting such news so soon. Kitty herself grew saddened, heavy with pity for a suffering father. She could not imagine what her own dad would have done, if she had shared Annabel's fate.

The Count closed his eyes and drew a silent breath. "I have decided to hold a funeral zervice," he managed to say. "Annabel zhall be buried here, in Bayville. Though it haz been her unjust playground, I feel zat it haz also been her only true home."

"I am not sure why you are telling me this, Armand," the Professor said gently. "But I have to say--"

The Count interrupted, "I vish for you and ze X-Men to attend ze zervice. I understand if you vere to refuse; the Velkonnens have not made a good impression, zis, I must admit and take fault for--but please, consider it. It vill be a short one. Also...ze girl and ze boy--zey vere the last to see my daughter alive, ze last to listen and speak to her...if they vere to come, it vould do justice to Annabel's memory."

The Professor stared at him, face blank save a frown. "What has happened to Theodore, Armand?" he asked sternly.

"Nothing, yet. I am not zure vhat I plan to do with that charlatan. Even as ve speak he iz in Austria, awaiting judgment by our courts."

"So you have decided to punish him the just way?"

The Count narrowed his eyes, "I have decided to allow my countrymen a say in Theodore's fate. And ve zhall leave it at that, Charles. I vish not to speak of him. Zis is my daughter's hour."

Kitty could tell the Professor wanted to prod further, but he nodded in submission.

"I would like to attend Annabel's memorial service," he said. "But I cannot speak for the students. You must understand, they have endured a harrowing time in the absence of their mentors. Fear, violence, and dread plagued them for weeks until the mystery was finally solved. I do not know if they are willing to attend the funeral of their predator. As for Rogue and Gambit, I will speak with them, but lest they decide in the negative--"

"Ah'll go."

Both eminent men turned towards the stairs as Rogue descended. She appeared determinedly placid and calm, her hair straight and brushed, her clothing unwrinkled and clean.

"Are you sure?" the Professor asked carefully.

"Positive," Rogue said. Her pensive green eyes turned towards the Count. "Annabel was my friend. This's the least Ah can do."

The Count seemed gratified by her words. "Thank you, dear Rogue."

Kitty could stand the secrecy no longer. She phased completely through the floor, and much to everyone else's shock, landed right beside the Professor. "I'm going, too," she declared.

"Kitty!" the Professor scowled. "What were you--"

The kitchen door opened; Jean, Kurt, and Scott emerged, looking a little sheepish but no less resolute. "We want to attend as well," Jean said. Her eyes flicked towards the rec room entrance as Jubilee, Roberto, and Ray stepped out, followed by the rest of the students.

"Us, too," Ray announced.

The Professor released a sigh and covered his eyes with his palm.

The Count struggled to contain his emotions. He merely nodded, bowing his head to Xavier's young students. They amazed him by their gallant character, the mature empathy they showed. "Thank you all," he said. "I can zay nothing more zan thank you."

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---

She slowly buttoned the black cardigan, her fingers inconvienently lethargic. It was made of cashmere, one of Jean's that she never got around to wearing. It fit Rogue perfectly, the V-neck collar accentuating her slender throat, the material appropriately hugging her form. She smoothed away any wrinkles on her knee-length skirt, then reached into her closet and pulled out a black scarf. Wrapping it around her neck, she stepped in front of the full-length mirror for the final examination.

She looked like a shadow. Only her hair and eyes held color, brilliantly potent from the dominance of black everywhere else.

"You look pretty like that," Kitty said from the other side of their room. She had chosen to wear a grey blouse under a more casual black suit jacket. Her black skirt flared slightly and was made less festive by the MaryJane slippers on her feet.

Rogue adjusted the scarf around her throat. "'Pretty' isn't exactly fit for a funeral, Ah would think."

"Maybe not, but doesn't make it any less true." Kitty brushed out her hair and swept it into a ponytail. "You always try to dress yourself down, Rogue. It's no crime to look 'pretty'."

"Why do girls try so hard anyway?" Rogue suddenly asked, in a more biting tone than she intended. "What's with the obession with make-up and brand named clothing?"

Kitty stared at her for a few seconds before saying, "I don't know. It's, like, how it's always been, hasn't it? People just want to look nice and feel good about themselves."

Rogue did not turn to face Kitty; her eyes remained fixed on her reflection in the mirror. "No...Ah think they just want other people to think they look nice, to make them feel good about themselves. Most of all, to impress those guys. Can't live without the guys." She huffed softly.

"Rogue." Kitty crossed the room and put a hand on her friend's shoulder. She looked at Rogue's reflection in the mirror. "You have to talk to him."

"Ah did, and look how that turned out."

"Talk to him again."

Rogue shrugged off her hand and moved away from the mirror. "Ya say it like it's so easy," she murmured. She opened the top drawer in her bureau, slowly removed a pair of black cashmere gloves.

Kitty warily watched her friend. Her light blue eyes frowned in silent perturbation. She could not help but feel that things were spiraling down a deep, dark hole. "I thought your powers were under control."

"They are," Rogue said, pulling on the gloves. "But no one has ta know yet." She walked past the mirror without giving herself a second glance, opened the door. "Ready to go?"

It took three vehicles to transport all the X-Men to the cemetary; Jean drove her SUV, Scott his convertible, and Logan the X-Van. Much against everyone's expectations, Rogue willingly boarded the passenger seat of Jean's SUV. "Can Ah turn on the radio?" she asked.

"Yeah," Jean said, voice betraying her surprise. She watched as the younger girl manuevered around buttons on the dashboard. Then she started the car and reminded everyone to buckle their seatbelts before taking off.

Rogue found a station playing mellow, soft rock. As she settled into her seat, she kept her eyes out the window. Conversation buzzed from the back of the SUV, reaching her ear in snippets. They were talking about Annabel, about the Count, about the imminent funeral. Would it be open casket? How did they find her so quick? What did the body look like? Uneasiness crept its way into Rogue's stomach, rose up and through her chest until she clenched her jaw. Her team mates spoke in low tones, probably assumed the music muffled their words, but it didn't bother her any less.

"Hey, is Gambit going too?" Kurt asked.

Bobby offered, "I didn't see him this morning. Didn't see him last night either. He still around?"

Rogue cringed, bit her lip. Her heart began to pound. He couldn't have left...

"Yes, he is," Jean said. "I spoke to him this morning, just when everyone was getting ready for the funeral."

"Is he coming?" Kitty asked.

"I didn't ask. He didn't say."

Rogue felt Kitty's eyes on her. She turned away and concentrated on the passing scenery of Bayville.

All too soon they arrived at the cemetary, and the scene that greeted them was saddenly appropriate for the occasion. Smooth clouds blanketed the sky, casting the day in hues of grey and faded colors. The air remained warm however bereft of sunshine, like the obstinate will of summer clinging to existence, averse to autumn's coming. Every so often a light breeze would disturb the tree leaves, ruffle the girls' skirts.

The Professor and Ororo led the procession while Logan and Hank took to the rear. Hardly anyone spoke, a respectful silence heavy about the students. They moved as a single entity, a team, a family--all wore dark attire, signs of mourning for a tortured soul that had inescapably plagued them. Rogue walked in front of Logan, between Kitty and Jean, behind Kurt; she was surrounded by these people whom she had practically grown up with, people she probably would not have survived without, and she could not help but feel apart from them. Because they did not know. They did not know the true Annabel, the girl that never lived, the girl that selflessly gave her life for strangers. A familiar tingling grew in Rogue's nose, and her eyes became blurry as tears threatened to show her weakness. She blinked them away and sniffed; she would at least try to be as strong as Annabel.

The Count stood before a beautifully polished casket poised above its grave. His head was bowed, his eyes closed, his hands clasped. Four Austrian guards stood on either side of him, faces no less melancholy. At the foot of the casket a venerable priest read consoling lines from from the holy book.

The X-Men approached, spreading out around the grave. Rogue's eyes traveled along their ranks; she saw Amara and Rahne's uneasy expressions, Scott's tightened jaw, Bobby and Sam's sullen looks of puzzlement. She saw Ororo place a hand on the Professor's shoulder, Hank an arm around little Jamie. Kitty and Kurt both had distant expressions on their faces. Jean's soft green eyes stared obliquely at the casket. Rogue studied each of her team mates, wondering what they must be feeling, thinking. She noticed that only one was not present, though he could hardly be counted as one of them.

The priest turned to a new page in his Bible and began the elegy. Rogue judged from his accent that he was Austrian. He spoke with such a tender sadness that it seemed he knew Annabel before all the terror surfaced. He might have baptized her as an infant, blessed her before her journey to the States, prayed for his Lord to grant her safety....

"'...so justice iz far from us, and righteousness does not reach us,'" the priest was quoting Isaiah. "'Ve look for light, but all iz darkness; for brightness, but we valk in deep shadows. Like ze blind ve grope along the wall, feeling our way like men vithout eyes...we moan mournfully like doves. Ve look for justice, but find none; for deliverance, but it iz far away. For our offenses are many in your sight and our sins testify against us..."

_Why is he saying these things?_ Rogue looked at the Count, who seemed lost in morose thoughts. Did no one else feel despair at the priest's hopeless words?

"'...from ze west, men vill fear ze name of the Lord, and from ze rising of the sun zey vill revere his glory. For he vill come like a pent-up flood that ze breath of ze Lord drives along. Ze Redeemer will come to Zion, to those in Jacob who repent of zeir sins..."

Rogue lowered her eyes, feeling the weight of the words. Comforting, pretty-sounding words. They served a purpose, but they were empty and hollow to Rogue. She never believed in God. Such faith seemed ridiculous, the crutch to lean on for those who could not cope with the reality of life. But she understood why people needed it, the faith, the hope. Without hope, there was nothing.

She stopped listening to the priest. Instead, she remembered Annabel the girl, not the ghost.

_There's no way to help me._

_I can't keep going on like this. I have to let them all go._

_I was being selfish for so long. So angry, so resentful...but now I see. I understand that this way it's fair._

_I've never had real friends...and that's what you guys feel like to me, friends._

_We're alike, Rogue. There's so much of us that's the same...and even if it doesn't feel like it, you are so lucky._

_You're so blessed._

Rogue looked at her hands, smoothed her fingers along the cashmere. Tears blurred her vision, too many to withold. She allowed herself to cry.

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Gambit watched from a distance, half-hidden behind a looming oak tree. To his own bemusement, he counted the X-Men and discovered every one present. He thought they would be angry, resentful, or at least hesitant to attend Annabel's funeral, but they were nothing of the sort. Once again, Gambit saw the quality of character within these people.

Rogue was there, surrounded by her surrogate family. It bothered him that she remained so placid. He understood what she was thinking, how she felt about Annabel's passing. He felt it, too. When Rogue finally let go of that stubborn mask she was so fond of wearing, he released a sigh of relief. He watched the tears roll down her porcelain face, her beautiful eyes clouded with sorrow, and felt some masochistic form of satisfaction. Rogue wasn't retreating into her shell again, at least not yet.

The casket was being lowered. When it was safely settled within its grave, the Count stepped forward and tossed upon it a handful of dirt. He then pulled a rose from within his jacket. Speaking a few words in Austrian, he let the rose fall into the grave of the daughter he never knew.

One by the one everyone filed past, dropping dirt and flowers onto the casket below. The priest continued murmuring his holy words. He did not relent as the Count's men began shoveling soil into the grave. Soon all that could be seen was a mound of brown dust, an intricately-carved gravestone at its head. Everyone loitered about, silent and watchful, unsure of what to do next.

While the Professor spoke with the Count, Ororo and Hank led the students back to the cars. Remy watched the steady departure. He saw that Rogue did not go with the others. She stood near the tombstone, her hair and skirt fluttering slightly in the gentle breeze. She looked so innocently pretty, so like a dark angel; one would never imagine she had fought tirelessly with men twice her size, struggled with unrelenting psyches in her mind.

Logan approached from behind, placed a hand on her shoulder. He said something Remy could not hear and Rogue nodded with closed eyes. She drew a breath, wiped her cheek, then followed Logan and the Professor towards their vehicles.

The Count, his men, and the priest soon departed. The grave was alone and solitary.

Remy waited several minutes. He stared at the flattened heap of disturbed earth, wondering how it was possible that Annabel lay beneathe.

The flaps of his trench coat rippled in the breeze as he approached. He knelt before the stone and ran a hand along its marble smoothness. "Dey all came t'see y', p'tite," he said, voice low. "Wherever y'are now, hope y'not feelin' guilty 'bout anyt'ing. S'all past." He placed a small bouquet of lilies upon the grave, unsure what else to say. How could he address her, this girl who had caused him so much strife for so long, haunted him with her despair? He remembered her anger, sadness, and hate, as fresh as if they were his own. What words would do justice to this moment...

"I can sweet talk m'self across dis country," he muttered with a sardonic laugh, "but I can't think of a single thing t'say dat'll make dis right, Annabel." He sighed, ran a hand through his hair. "Doesn' seem fair, but I understand why y'ended it. Makes me think 'bout how I've been screwin' up dese days...hell, all m'life." He snorted, "'Course, dat depends on who y'ask. According to Jean-Luc, I'd deserve a gold medal fo' personal conduct... Not easy t'stop bein' a scoundrel when dat's all y've ever known."

He shook his head and gazed at the morose surroundings under the dismal sky. Annabel had lived her counterfeit life in complete isolation; and here he was, alone, as always. He was so sorry for Annabel, empathized so clearly with her situation. Yes, there was his family. Yes, there was Henri and Tante Mattie. But none of that satisfied the inner longings he felt, the need he had never realized and would never admit. But then _she_ came into his life and threw everything out of order. She graced his existence and stirred something buried beneathe years of stealing, deceit, and feuding. And now she loathed him. Now he was back where he started, but this time it wasn't ever going to be enough again. Not that he would ever consciously acknowledge those thoughts; not that it would ever rouse anything more than confused frustration.

"Can't say I deserve anyt'ing less dan dis," he muttered. "Y'knew 'bout Genny, didn't y'Annabel? Y'said it wasn' dat big a deal. Wish y'were right. Wish I wasn' such a prick back den..." He ran a hand along the stone again, was reminded of Rogue's untouchable skin. Despite the control she seemed to exhibit over her powers, she was still untouchable. At least to him. "But wishin' never 'mounted t'anyt'ing, so I've decided what t'do, p'tite. Y'were in m'head. Y'know why I joined up wit' Magneto. Still waitin' for me back home, too. Dey know m'contract's up, prob'ly wondering why I haven't gone back. Didn' think I ever would after all dis...but s'only thing left t'do now. Maybe s'all for de best." He gave the tombstone a final pat and stood to his feet.

There was nothing left to say, only something to do. He had planned everything that morning; it would be easy. His guest bedroom at the Xavier Institute housed none of his personal effects; some of it was at the Acolyte base while most remained at his apartment in New York. He would return the borrowed clothes to the Med Bay and ride his motorcycle into the City. From there it would be a one-way trip back home. Now all he had to do was get his feet moving. He stuck his hands into his pockets and turned to leave. But something stirred behind him, caused his limbs to balk.

A soft raspy voice: "She said she'd miss ya." Light footsteps approached until they stopped behind him, a little off to the side. He saw her shadow in the dim light. "When we were up in that plane she got in my head and...she said you and Ah were like friends to her." She released a dry laugh heavy with gloom. "Then she fixed my powers...and she jumped."

Remy didn't dare move, afraid he might scare her away.

Rogue stepped into his view as she stared at the gravestone. She lowered her head, strands of rich hair falling over her face. "Ah'm sorry," she murmured.

Remy was unsure whom she was addressing. He remained silent and unmoving, watching her in reluctant fascination. This was not supposed to happen; she was thwarting his plans. He looked away and tried to remember what it was he had been about to do.

"Ah don't even know how to start," Rogue said. She lifted her face and breathed a sigh, "Your memories...they felt so real, like Ah had lived the whole thing right alongside ya. And Ah thought--Ah believed those feelings... Ah forgot they weren't mine."

He didn't want to hear what she was saying. He had reasoned through his choices and reached a decision; and she had no part in it. His life would be so much simpler that way.

"Annabel told me somethin' before she leapt," Rogue whispered. "She...uh...told me not ta judge your mistakes." She paused, as if afraid to go on. "And she said that the past doesn't matter, because of what we have...but Ah'm not even sure--what do we have, Remy?"

He lowered his eyes, "Somet'ing dat was too good t'last."

Rogue seemed taken aback by the response. She took a step toward him. "That's not true," she rasped. "You aren't listening...Ah felt everythin' ya felt that night. Ah felt your guilt, your disgust at yourself...at the Guild." She shook her head, "It was too soon after absorbin' ya--Ah couldn't sort it out right. Ah panicked a little..." She wished he would look at her, say something assuring. But wasn't it all on her anyway? If she told him how she really felt, wouldn't everything be okay?

"What's y'point, chere?"

His iciness cut through her chest. She forced calm upon herself and said, "Ah don't blame ya for what happened to Genevieve Darcenaux, and neither should you. Yeah, usin' her like that was insanely wrong, but any jerk this side of the Mississippi would've done the same thing."

Remy huffed, "Bet y'wouldn't feel dat way if it'd been you."

Rogue tried to ignore his biting tone. "No, Ah wouldn't," she admitted. "Ah'd feel angry and betrayed, and Ah'd hate you--like Genevieve probably did. But she wasn't your responsiblity, Remy. She had no hold on you." She looked away as tears welled in her eyes, annoyingly incovenient. "Ah know what it feels like, tryin' ta save someone but not being able to. Annabel, Genevieve...we couldn't stop 'em from falling. But we just...we gotta realize--as cruel as it might sound--they weren't our responsiblity. Things happen that even we can't change."

Remy drooped his head, bangs falling over his poetically demonic eyes.

"It wasn't ya fault," Rogue said gently. "That cold man...he..." She frowned, realized Remy's memory of the mercenary reminded her of someone. Blond, beastly--

"I got what I wanted from her den took what I needed," Remy gritted. He kept his gaze fixed at an invisible spot, hard and self-deprecating. "What makes y'think I won' do de same t'you?"

Rogue was speechless, shocked that he had the audacity to say such a thing. "Because--the situations, they're different."

"Wrong, chere...y'so wrong."

"Shut up," Rogue snapped, biting her lip in frustration. He was purposely arguing against himself, intentionally seeking to incite her hate. All she could do was try and convince him that such self-loathing was unnecessary, that he had found that coveted redemption. "Ya may've charmed and flirted with me like you did her, but you're forgetting days and days of...of us, Remy." She rubbed the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand and the words spilled forward in an endless ramble, "Ah don't even know where to start--Ah can't say everythin' because there's too much. You fought for me, tried to rescue me, sacrificed yourself and took three bullets for me. You left, but ya always came back. You made everything better with a few words, a touch, a look. You helped my friends get through what was happening...you...you..." She covered her eyes with her hand, ashamed to be breaking down in front of him, "Ya saved me, in every way. Ah can't even..." She gasped softly as a warm hand caressed her cheek, brushed aside stray strands of hair.

Remy dejectedly shook his head. The redness of his eyes glowed softly submissive. "How can y'be sure, Rogue?" he asked hoarsely. "What's dat sayin'...once a t'ief, always a t'ief?"

Rogue drew closer, stared up at his familiar face. She felt his breath disturb her eyelashes, felt his warmth radiating from their closeness. He was deranging and provocative; he was everything she had ever wanted and always believed was impossible to have. Annabel was so right--it would've been wrong to throw this away, this feeling, this need. The Rogue had never needed anyone in her life; it frightened her now that she was so dependent, so vulnerable towards a guy who had such an equivocal past. But despite everything....

"Ah trust you," she said softly, breathing in his fresh scent, detecting a slight hint of cologne. "Ah think Ah always did...even when it didn't make sense to." She lifted a hand and cupped his cheek, stroking at his light stubble with tender fingers. She may not have known him years ago, but what did that matter? The present was alive; the past was gone and immutable. "Ah've been runnin' away for as long as Ah can remember, Remy. Ah'm tired of it. Aren't you?"

He stared at her in maddening silence, red eyes fixed unwaveringly on her green.

"Ya might not trust yourself," she whispered, "but don't ya trust me?"

He rested his forehead against hers and released a sigh, "Rogue..."

"What, Remy."

"Thank you," he whispered, and caught her lips with his own.

Rogue lost herself into the kiss. She felt his arms encircle her form, felt his warmth seeping into her senses. His touch was like water on a parched plant, and she relished in every caress of his kiss. Her hands found their way around his neck, pulled his face closer. She never wanted to let go, never wanted this bliss to end. It didn't have to, did it? This could last. Annabel's gift was forever.

His lips traveled up her cheeks, past her eyes, settled on her forehead. He held her close, stroked her hair as she buried her face in his shoulder. Feeling her so close, seeing her so forgiving, he could not help but think he didn't deserve this. It amazed him that they had come so far after so little time. Images of theirstrugglesfloated into memory.

Rogue lifted her head and kissed his jaw. Her question came as a whisper, simple and tender, "Are you all right?"

Remy pulled her closer, a wan smile curving his mouth. "Yeah, chere. I am."

Rogue rested against him and sighed contentedly. She could almost see Annabel smiling down at them.


	35. Bliss

**Still a few more chapters to go so continue staying tuned! **I'll let you know when this is "over" with a little "the end"--or...more like "to be continued", hint hint.

**And I want to thank everybody who's read and reviewed**. It means a lot that people care! 

**flowerperson: **Demon's a cool name for a dog. I like it. And that's so cool how you named it after this fic! I'm so touched, really. **Possessor of the X Gene:** Balance, yes, that was what I hoped, without redundancy of course. I am so glad you think it wasn't cheesey! That's like my worst fear. Thanks for the virtual cookie. **Sweety8587:** Poetic...isn't that just a great adjective? Accomplishes so much and gives such meaning in just three syllables, without sounding silly. Thank you thank you. And no, I don't have MSN messenger. Sorry! **Marakida:** Sweet often turns sour through the course of time...sorry, that was a lame attempt at melodramatic metaphor. My point is, they'll be together, but for how long? **AprilAngel413:** Great, thanks. I'll try.** Freak87:** Yeah, the whole Rogue/Gambit thing is only good when they're not together. Haha, that sounds so messed up. We just like to see them break apart, get together, break apart--heck, Marvel's been doing it for decades, and it still hasn't gotten old! Do you find that strange? Head out of the ceiling, yeah, when I was writing that, I pictured it and it was a funny picture. The X-Men are very supporting people, the idea for all of us. I really wish I lived with people like them, in a house, with a common cause. --sigh-- **ishandahalf:** Hmm, Remy and Rogue not fighting for a long while? I'm not sure I can pull that off...I mean, it totally contradicts their very being, yeah? Hahaha... A new fic??? Oh my God, I'm so excited! I need some quality fiction to read, please! Outlines, hmm, I never really liked them. I just like to plan it out in my head, write only so much, then let the ideas flow and stuff freely. But go ahead with your outline and make something great. Can it be an action/adventure? Because that would be so much fun. What's the title of the story you and melancholic wrote?** BananaPanda24:** One of the best stories on the site? Thank you! Like I could stop writing! This is only healthy recreational thing I do--teens these days, drinking, smoking, agh. Not that I smoke. Heh. Really.** EmeraldKatsEye:** The story is coming close to its end, but not yet. You'll find I still have stuff in store for these characters. Yes, I can manage fluffy every once in a while. God, too much makes me sick. Have a tissue. **Chica De Los Ojos Cafe:** I should have made a note that "Heal" was not the last chapter--everybody was asking about it! Well, this one isn't the last chapter either, so stay tuned. Speechless, huh? That's great. Means you're feeling the effect. Of course there'll be more! I'd be insultedfor you guys if there wasn't. **Totally Obsessed 47:** I try cute, and sometimes pull it off. Guess I did it right for "Heal". But I really don't get how the whole break-up, make-up, break-up thing keeps going. Doesn't it get old? I haven't tired of it, but I've only been a fan since summer 2004--and this franchise has been around for, what, 40 years??? The fan craze...**MidniteAngelGoth: **Yeah, he was supposed to go back home. There's always that classic "unfinished business" deal going on with him. But for the moment it doesn't seem like he's going anywhere. I don't know how I do it. I wasn't as frenzied about all this like I was during the summer, when it first set in. But I'm still finding the inspiration somewhere. Hopefully it will never run out. And didn't you hear? There is a sequel! At least I'm planning on it. **Qui Sera Sera: **Thank you thank you thank you! I like how this is your fav fic. And like I could stop!** Nightshade:** Whoa, your enthusiasm blew me away upon first reading your review. Something in the "so frickin' awesome" rang. Thank you. And I'm not that great a writer, just a lowly fanfic dreamer. And, god, I am going to look like a complete _idiot_, but for some reason I can't find your fic. There's nothing titled "Fall Into Me" under X-Men Evolution stories. Is that your category?** SickmindedSucker: **Oh, please, you're going to make me tear up. I'm glad it touched your heartstrings, s'what I try to do. I couldn't decide what sort of flowers to use--roses too typical, violets too plain, carnations are almost just like roses...so I settled with lilies--ok, you probably don't care about that, lol. "Even if it wasn't intended last chapter, I'm glad you put everything you did in ther and I wouldn't have wanted to read it any other way..."--yeah, I get what you're sayin'. Thank you. **SarQueen4**: You're too sweet, but please don't stop, lol. Yes, I finally get to do some Romy without feeling like a cheeseball. They deserve it after all this drama, yeah?** GothikStrawberry: **Your intuition does not lead you astray. --wince-- Sorry, but yeah, badness always comes, though this time around it won't be the doubt-frustration-painful type, more like the what-the-hell-are-we-supposed-to-do now type...I think. I probably just confused you more.** Cd lover: **Wish I had a tissue to give you right then. I didn't know you had a shoulder demon, wait, maybe I did, lol. Umm... I'm not sure how I can help you with your email address problem at My comp crashed a few months ago too and I thought I would lose everything, including this fic! But I think I already told you that. But maybe you need to re-register or something. **Enchanted light: **oh, crap, I can't remember if it's you or the other person, "epona" something, who always leaves four-word reviews. If it _is_ you, WOW. I am seriously shocked. You broke your...habit (?). Gonna kill Rogue, huh? Well, I could have done that for you, but...haha, you'd probably want to kill me then, yeah?** Shockgoddess:** I like comics and how they have pictures that are really just like freeze-frames of motion pictures, know what I mean? But yeah, they could delve a little deeper into the emotion and human drama. They _are_ very short. I have a total of four comics, that my friend gave me as a Christmas present one year as a joke. Heh, ironic huh? And about the X-Men going to the funeral, they _are_ quite bitter, but I probably didn't make that very clear. I think I just mentioned Rogue looking around at her teammates and noting a few funny expressions and tight jaws--but I was hoping to show the character of these young people: even though they were attacked by this seemingly psychotic girl, they retain enough...what it is, righteousness (?) to attend a funeral, bc they understand it wasn't entirely Annabel's fault. And plus, they wanted to be there for Rogue. Remy does seem like a private person--but he's a thief, has to be careful and discreet. But, oh, you know me, love to ruin the goodness with another obstacle before my fav couple. I still have a few twists in mind. **Nimbio:** Thank you for saying it wasn't "too sappy or fast"--that's one of my worst fears for a fic, I swear. I'm glad it came out "real and human" for you. This is definitely not the end and of course more badness occurrs--I just can't rid myself of it! Rocky and Bullwinkle?? Those two scare me--no reason, same as the Teletubbies and any type of doll-like thing in general.** Lavender Rumiro:** I think you're the first to actually say "thank you" for the fic--I'm touched. I'm glad you enjoy the fic; I do try to make the words flow, changing paragraphs and sometimes whole pages when it doesn't sound or "feel" right. Keep reading! **Doza:** Good job with reading all those chapters--it's a workout for the eyes! I've done it before for other fics. I'm glad you think parts of it was scary. It was under the suspense/romance category for a while, what with the mystery and all, but then I had to change it for obvious reasons.**fudgebrowne:** Oh, it's okay to cry! I didn't laugh, but I did smile, that's not too bad, right b/c I'm only pleased that you found my chapter so moving that you would shed tears over it. Very touching. And no, it's not the last chapter. **Lady Godiva:** See, the thing is, Annabel was just a means to get through to Gambit and Rogue. I never really considered her as anything but at first, but now when I think about it, when I see the reactions of you guys, I see that she's got more meaning than just the vehicle through which Rogue and Gambit are brought closer together. Her situation did suck, it was horrible and unfair, but she was courageous enough to end it on her own accord for the betterment of others--I don't know if I could do that. I think I'd just be angry and want to hurt things. Hmm, Logan may of said that, he may have not--guess none of us will really know. **Orion Kohaishu:** Is it wrong to enjoy your word-lessness? I like the wows, most definitely. Sorry, I'm basking way too much in this. I just love how you love this fic! Talent...I like that idea. Thank you so very much. I have to bow to that gracious applaus. Swear, I don't mean to sound like a dork. **Jamie:** aw, that was cute how you did that "satisfied sigh" thing. So little can say so much I guess. **epona:** I try, I try. You got watery eyes, too? Is it sick that I'm satisfied by that? Well, only bc it makes me feel good about writing an enjoyable read.** Gyjvfvnvffdjiklgh: **I'm not sure if you'll see this reply, but thanks for the review, and I'll bet you just randomly pounded the keys of your keyboard for that penname! **Lord Xodarap:** I'm running out of ways to thank people—why couldn't there be more ways of saying "thank you"? I mean, how many different ways can we say "funny"—comical, humorous, hilarious, laughable, farcical, yada yada yada…but only "thank you". You're the first to say I'm too good to ever stop—that means a lot, very flattering, too. Thank you!! **Wildcard186:** Thanks for thanking me. That's a sweet gesture. **Texasgrrl:** Thank you for reviewing! And I am soooo flattered that you would compare my fic to "Giddy" and "Love of My Life", two of my all-time favorites. You got scared, you cried? It's like a movie? Thank God I did it right! But whoa, from eight at night to seven in the morning? You have stamina. I applaud you. But hold on, it's not over yet. **Misswildfire:** No, it's definitely not over yet. I've still got some stuff to give you guys. **AthenBlade:** I tried to see things from Remy's point of view, not easy considering I'm technically a newbie at all this. But thanks for noticing. **BlackNight369: **I figure we could use some sweetness after all the heinously redundant angst. And heck no this isn't the end! I'll let y'all know when it is. **EstrellaKitty13:** Thanks, and about the two different spellings, I don't really know French, but I figure one spelled one way sounds different than one spelled the other way. So when I type "chere" (which I think sounds better) I mean for Remy to say it like "share". And then why I type "cherie" (which I think sounds not as charming) I mean for Remy to say it like "share-ee". Maybe that's just stupid but whatever, I take my liberties.

**

* * *

**

"Who is that?"

"She just got here a few minutes ago."

"She's hot!"

"Oh, shut up, she is not."

"I'm sensing a little bit of jealousy."

"Please! Look at her hair. What kind of dye job is that?"

"Maybe it's natural."

Jubilee wrinkled her nose as if she had tasted something sour. "Bobby, quit while you're ahead."

"I'm never ahead with you! There's always some snappy comeback or girlish mood swing--ow!" He yowled when she punched him on the shoulder. "This's seriously no way to treat an ex-coma patient."

"Well, watch out before I put you in another one."

Bobby sharply drew in his breath, "Phew, girl, you got a feisty side."

"Like ya didn't already know."

"What are you two bickering about now?" Kitty emerged from the girls' wing corridor, having just finished a late morning shower. Her hair, slightly damp, hung as a thick curtain of rich brown over her shoulders.

Jubilee leaned against the railing and thumbed towards the foyer below. "New arrival."

"Recruit?"

"Man, I hope so," Bobby sighed.

After thoroughly rolling her eyes, Jubilee said, "Probably not. I mean, look at her."

Kitty peered down at the first floor. Before the Institute doors sat a girl in a wheelchair. She was speaking in quiet tones with Ororo and the Professor, a young woman standing supportively behind her. She seemed like a perfectly typical girl, except for the locks of green hair sprouting from her head; it was a muted shade, but was no less alluring with its likeness to pale tree leaves.

"Doesn't she look a bit...ill?" Jubilee murmured. "I think she's visiting the Med Bay."

After a few last words, Ororo took the handles of the new arrival's wheelchair and guided her out of the foyer. The Professor continued to speak with the older girl. "You made the right decision in bringing her here."

The young woman was tall and slender, golden blond hair resting in straight locks upon her shoulders. "I just want Lorna to be safe," she said. "Our parents...they don't understand and they're…they're kind of afraid of her. You'll be able to take care of her, right?"

"Of course. And you do know she is quite welcome to stay, live and learn amongst youth just like herself?"

"No, that's all right, Professor Xavier. I have an apartment in New York. Lorna can live with me there after she's feeling better. I don't think she's ready to...well, take that step, I guess."

The Professor nodded understandably. "Visit any time you like, Miss Danes," he said.

"Thank you."

Kitty watched her leave, then exchanged curious expressions with Bobby and Jubilee. Before the thought even occurred to them, the Professor turned around and spotted them on the balcony.

"Hi," Jubilee chirped, waving her hand meekly.

The Professor raised an eyebrow, "I suppose it will be superfluous to make a formal announcement?"

Bobby guffawed and clapped Jubilee on the back, "Her mouth's gonna run all right, but you should do it for formality's sake."

"Get off!" Jubilee growled. She shoved him away and stomped towards the girls' dormitory.

"Hey, I was just kiddin'!" Bobby ran after her.

Kitty rolled her eyes, noticed that the Professor smiled half-heartedly. He nodded politely in her direction before hovering out of view in his chair. Kitty frowned, sensing that something troubled the man. Granted, it was natural for something to always be troubling him, what with all the problems mutants had to face and how he constantly had to be the one fighting them. Kitty pursed her lips, wondering if the present encumbrance had anything to do with recent events, with Annabel Velkonnen. Her curious side got the better of her.

She phased through the stair landing until she landed softly on the first floor. The Professor just disappeared around the corner of the next hall. Creeping along, Kitty followed him to a study. Unsurprisingly, Logan sat in one of the armchairs in wait.

"The new kid got settled in?" he asked in his usual growling voice.

The door closed behind the Professor as he entered.

Kitty prayed that her presence wouldn't be picked up. She listened through the door.

"...with Hank. Her mutant abilities are interesting, indeed, very similar to Magneto's."

"You think buckethead's her father or somethin'?"

"It is plausible," came the Professor's reply. "She is an adopted child so we cannot confirm that hypothesis. I asked the sister but no one knows who Lorna's real parents are.... But let's not discuss that now. Did you receive any word?"

"The boys at S.H.I.E.L.D. claim they don't know anything 'bout power-negating collars. I don't believe 'em for a second."

A strange fear billowed in Kitty's chest. Power-negating collars? She couldn't believe something like that existed. Ideas immediately sprang into her head, visions of assaulted mutants unable to defend themselves, metal rings constricting their throats.

"Armand informed me that his men purchased them from a private merchant for evaluation and test purposes," the Professor said. "The identity or any affiliations thereof were never given or sought."

"This smells, Chuck. Those things were too high-tech to've been cooked up in some makeshift science lab. Only research, materials, and financial backing could've done the job."

"Yes, I agree. And I can think only the government would invest in such an enterprise."

Kitty heard Logan scoff contemptuously, "And they said the Sentinel program was terminated. Out with the old and in with the new, looks like. Have to say, they're gettin' mighty creative."

"We know nothing for sure yet, Logan. As great a threat that this may be, I am afraid there is little we can do now. Research and reconnaissance are in order. We might even require some of the students to aid the effort."

"Got it. I'll marshal a team right now--"

"No...not so soon after...recent events. If these collars have been kept secret for so long, and so adequetly, I do not expect their revealing to be imminent. The students deserve a pause in the all the fear, struggle, and doubt."

Logan grunted in agreement. "You think this should be kept under wraps?"

"It would be best. I will inform Hank and Ororo..."

"Hey!"

Kitty nearly shrieked from fright. She spun around, coming face to face with the elf's weirdly yellow eyes. "Damn it, Kurt!" she hissed. "Don't do that again--"

"I gotta show you something!" he said breathlessly.

"Is someone out there...?" Footsteps neared the door from within Xavier's office.

Kitty gasped and snatched Kurt's arm, phasing them both through the opposite wall. She pulled him through several rooms before finally stopping in the kitchen. Seating herself at the table, she paused to catch her breath.

"Vhat vere you doing?" Kurt asked curiously.

"Nothing. Why'd the heck you jump me?"

He seemed to remember what had previously caused his excitement. "I just saw--you von't believe--jeez, it vas crazy!"

"_What?_"

"You just have to see it," Kurt declared. He grabbed her arm and with a poof of smoke, they ported out of the kitchen.

Kitty blinked and found herself standing right outside the second floor lounge, utterly confused. She waved away the stench of sulfur. "Jeez, you're acting like--"

"Ssh!" Kurt hissed and opened the door slightly ajar.

With an annoyed frown, Kitty peered into the lounge.

The TV was on, broadcasting one of the daily soap operas; but nobody paid it any attention. Kitty's gaze fixed on the couple sitting on the floor in front of the couch, playing cards patterned between them. She couldn't help smiling.

"Ah saw that."

"Saw what, chere?"

"You're cheating!"

"Now dat's a heinous accusation. How can y'cheat in two-person poker?"

Rogue huffed, "Knowing you, it wouldn't be hard."

"Ouch."

"Roll up ya sleeves."

"No, dat's okay," Gambit chuckled. "S'fine de way it is." He pulled his arm away as Rogue lunged forward to grab it. "What's de matter, chere, don' trust me?"

"Oh, shut up, swamp rat!"

Gambit only laughed as cards splayed everywhere from their struggle. He rolled onto his back as Rogue managed to pin him down. She seized an arm and yanked back the sleeve of his shirt. Plucking the card with deft fingers, she smirked, "Ace of Hearts? How are ya so predictable?"

Without warning Gambit twisted free and grabbed her arms. In one swift motion he rolled her over and landed on top with a flurry of cards, pinning her down with his torso and legs. "'Cause y' de ace o' _my _heart, chere," he said.

Rogue remained silent, green eyes staring into his red.

Kurt started making gagging sounds, and Kitty slapped him on the arm.

Suddenly the two Southerners burst out laughing. Gambit's deep chuckles mingled with Rogue's husky giggles into a comforting and wholesome sound. When they finally regained some composure, she said, "Ah can't believe how cheesey that was--like right out of a soap opera!"

Gambit continued to laugh heartily. "What can I say, couldn' pass up de opp'tunity." His chuckles faded to a smile as Rogue affectionately ruffled his hair. He leaned in close, his nose nudging hers. "But doesn' make it any less true."

A sweet smile spread on Rogue's face. She tilted her head back until their lips met.

The kiss seemed so profound yet simple, so unexpected yet inevitable, that it was just... Right. Kitty smiled as she silently closed the door. She settled Kurt with a skeptical look, "You ported me over here because they were, like, playing cards?"

He gawked at her in shock, "That's it? You're not even fazed?!"

Kitty shrugged.

"But--she vas touching him earlier, too! I couldn't believe mein eyes!"

"It's natural for people to touch each other."

"But it's Rogue--she--this's..." Kurt stammered, stared with wide eyes at Kitty's unperplexed state. Then he dropped his head. "I am so confused..."

Kitty draped an arm around his shoulders, started leading him away from the lounge. "Then let me enlighten you. But you have to promise one thing, Kurt."

"Vhat?"

"You can't, like, go run and tell everybody," Kitty said.

Kurt frowned at the graveness of her tone, "Is it some horrible secret or something?"

"No, it's more like a sensitive one. Just promise! For your sister's sake."

"All right."

Kitty nodded in satisfaction and began to tell him everything she knew.

-------------

Normalcy began to seep back into the happenings within the Xavier Institute. Much of the damaged parts of the building had been replaced, repainted, or replastered. The estate seemed to have never been disturbed. As the last bits of crash-landed plane were cleared away, professional landscapers arrived to refurbish the scorched plantlife and upturned earth. No more work was to be done on the students' part; the X-Men enjoyed a few days' leisure, relishing in the last remaining weeks of summer.

"I swear, it's broken."

"You just don't know how to use it right."

Rahne rolled her eyes and pushed Roberto out of the way. "I'll figure it out."

"Come on," he huffed, "grilling is an art for guys."

"Oh, stuff it, Roberto!"

"Rahne! Must we resort to verbal abuse?"

From his seat at the patio table, Logan gave a grunt of annoyance. "Quit bickerin' and solve the problem," he barked. "Else nobody'll be gettin' any burgers tonight." He nodded towards the students gathering on the patio, some wearing swimsuits for a dip in the pool, others in casual summer clothing for sporty games.

Rahne crossed her arms as Roberto fiddled with the dials and tubes of the grill. "I'm telling you, it's broken, or out of propane."

"I can fix it," Roberto insisted.

Tabitha wandered over, wearing nothing but her red bikini and a beach towel wrapped around her waist. "What's the prob here?"

"Grill's not starting up."

"Oh, amateurs," Tabitha sighed. "You don't always need gas to light up coals." She began rubbing her palms together, and before either Rahne or Roberto could protest, tossed a cherry bomb into the grill.

The tiny explosion made nearly everyone jump. Logan raised an eyebrow and turned in the direction of hazy smoke, "Tabitha..."

"No worries, Badger," she replied. "Nothing broke."

Roberto wiped his soot-covered face and peered at the grill. "Hey, the coals are burning. None of the grill rungs are broken either."

"See?" Tabitha grinned in satisfaction. She left Rahne and Roberto to their cooking duties and sashayed over to where the girls had gathered on the sun-tanning chairs.

"You guys met her today?" Amara was asking.

Jean spoke while adjusting the strings of her white bikini halter top. "Yeah, Lorna's a really sweet girl. Her hair is amazing. I think the greenness is part of her mutation."

Jubilee sat on a chair beside Amara. "Kinda like Rogue's hair," she remarked, smirking in Rogue's direction.

The girl merely shrugged and smiled absent-mindedly.

Tabitha asked, "What're her powers?"

"Isn't it something with magnetism?" Kitty offered. She looked towards Jean for confirmation.

"Yeah, like Magneto's, except not so intense, I would think. Ever since she woke up from the coma she's been sick and very weak. Her powers were becoming abnormal so Hank's going monitoring her condition for a while."

Rogue, who had been quiet throughout the conversation, sat slightly apart from the rest of the group. She showed more skin than usual, wearing only a green tank top and dark denim capris. Her hair lay in adorably wispy strands, shining under the sun with white and auburn bangs framing her pale face. The green of her eyes were never more noticeable. Presently, she rubbed sunblock over her exposed skin to keep from burning.

The other girls began gossiping about Bobby's fascination with the new arrival. Kitty moved to sit beside Rogue, her sapphire-blue eyes anticipating. "So...?"

Rogue frowned, "So...what?"

"Where is he?"

Rogue couldn't help rolling her eyes. "Is that all ya think about, me and my love life?"

"Well, when there are, like, so many new developments, how can I help it?" Kitty smiled. "Oh, yeah, um, Kurt knows about it now, too."

"What?"

"He saw you guys flirting and fondling," Kitty explained.

"We were not flirting and fond--when was this?"

"Just the other day. Card game, 'you cheater', wrestling--recall?"

A slight blush blossomed on Rogue's cheeks. She kept her face straight and asked, "Did ya tell him everything?"

"I had to. He was, like, gonna have a stroke." Kitty suppressed a giggle, "You should have seen him, shocked beyond belief. But hey, we're not talking about Kurt right now. Where is you-know-who?"

Rogue sighed as though exasperated. "He's talkin' with the Professor," she said quietly.

A frown darkened Kitty's features. "About...what?"

"Ah'm not sure. It hasn't been long though, about ten minutes so far."

"Have you talked with the Professor?"

"Yeah..."

"Did you tell him?"

"Yeah."

"You think they're talking about whether or not he's staying?"

Rogue shrugged nonchalantly, "Ah don't know. The whole X-Men thing isn't really his style, Ah don't think."

"People develop new styles all the time."

Rogue rolled her eyes, "Nice try."

"You're worried."

"Ah'm not anything."

Kitty subtly nudged her friend, careful as to not draw attention from the others. "It's okay to, like, admit you like someone," she smiled. "And especially if you more than like them."

Rogue nodded, but remained silent. She returned to applying sunblock.

-----------

Sunlight poured through the glass window panes, illumined intangible dust particles until they danced about the air, visible to the naked eye. Xavier's office, no doubt the place where grave matters and life-changing decisions were discussed, was made jovial and welcoming with a few potently golden rays of sun.

Remy's gaze flicked towards the window every few seconds. He saw the azure blue sky, the puffy white clouds. Sounds of people commingling and socializing floated into the office from the backyard, teasing him with their merriment. It seemed wrong to be sitting indoors on a day so perfect.

"So you have come to a decision," the Professor said.

Remy sat in front of the man's desk, wearing a navy blue baseball tee sewn with the X-Men logo, and dark green cargo pants. He played with one of his pocket's zippers as he spoke, "Not 'xactly."

"I understand your reluctance in joining the X-Men, but it seems to me at this moment that...well, you certainly look the part." A faint smile of amusement grew on the Professor's sagely features.

Remy laughed curtly, "Heh, guess so." He sighed and leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees. "M'not crazy 'bout de whole fight-as-a-team, save-de-lil'-people deal," he admitted, "but I don' wan' leave jus' yet."

The Professor nodded, "Because of Rogue."

Remy's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He had not expected the Professor to know about them, but then again, he was a telepath. "Yeah, 'cause o' Rogue."

"If you were to leave," the Professor stated carefully, "have you considered taking her with you, wherever you intend to go?"

"T'be honest, dat never occurred t'me."

"Good. I cannot say I would support such a venture. Despite her newfound control over her powers, she still has much to learn about them."

"Couldn' agree more, sir."

"Then that leaves us still with the matter of your residence or departure," the Professor stated bluntly. "I must voice my own thought on this matter: Despite your rather questionable past and less than sumeritan dealings, I feel that you would be an asset to the team. You have unparalleled skills and a well-rounded knowledge from your experiences as a thief."

"Jus' de perfect recruit, hein?" Remy smirked.

"Not only that, but a trustworthy person as well."

Remy couldn't help raising an eyebrow.

"Rogue is severely indisposed towards trusting others," the Professor said, "yet she has complete faith in you. I do not doubt her instinct, nor mine. Understand that being part of this Institute demands faith, companionship, and teamwork. Our lives are not filled with luxurious days of inactive lethargy; we work, we train, we strive towards a common goal..."

Remy eased his words in, "Dat's no problem, Professor."

"I did not believe it would be. Either way, Remy, there is a place for you among us, if you are willing to take it. My offer has never expired."

The Professor's little diatribe was filled with imperative words, an oration towards hopes and dreams that Remy had never believed in. He remembered scheming with Magneto on how best to thwart the X-Men's efforts; he remembered trying to blow them up on several occassions. And suddenly he was sitting before their leader, being asked to join? It was almost funny.

Remy sighed, "Like I said before, m'not too crazy 'bout fightin' for somebody else's cause, 'specially one dat, no offense, doesn' seem too realistic." He remembered Magneto's ideal state of existence, war with flatscan humans until they submitted to the will of mutants. It seemed so much more conceivable than Xavier's dream of peaceful coexistence.

"People will see the follies in their ignorances," the Professor said confidently. "Who will teach them if not us?"

"Pers'nally, I don' think y'can. Dey'll jus' have t'take deir own time t'get used t'us. But we won' be seein' dat in de span o'our lives."

The Professor sighed and rubbed his barren head. "To each his own view," he nodded. "Think about what we have discussed, Remy. I am not the only one who would be pleased about your joining. But the decision is ultimately up to you."

The meeting was over. Remy stood to leave, but stopped in the doorway. "Would I have t'dress like de others?" he asked.

A chuckle. "You already are, Mr. LeBeau."

Remy looked down at his shirt, smirked. "S'pose so, but seriously, Prof, de uniforms are lil'..."

"Mandatory."

"Right," Remy said with a dry laugh. "Well...I'll let y'know 'bout...all de stuff."

"Please do."

Remy closed the door behind him. He stood in the hall and released a sigh; too many thoughts floated about his mind, too many decisions he didn't want to make. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he strolled through the wing until he reached the master staircase. Choices, decisions, choices... There was business to be dealt with in New Orleans, responsibities and commitments he had run away from for too long. He had planned to go back, planned to face the Guild and--but Rogue was here. Promise and hope were here.

Remy was so deep in his thoughts he didn't realize he'd reached the kitchen doors. They swung open without warning.

"Whoa, dude, watch where you're goin', huh?" Bobby said. He pivoted on his feet to avoid crashing into the former Acolyte, nearly dropping the tray of food in his hands.

Remy stepped aside to let him pass. "An' who gets de pleasure?" he smirked. His eyes scanned the offerings: a lavishly heaped sandwich, an enormous cookie, a side dish of vegetables, apple sauce, and a glass of ginger ale.

"Patient in the Med Bay," Bobby replied nonchalantly.

"Helluva lot o'trouble y'go through, non?"

Bobby raised an eyebrow, "You suggesting somethin'?"

Remy shrugged, "De filles have deir way o'gettin' t'us. Have t'admit, though, dat green hair sure is enticin'."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Bobby asked, rather defensively. "You got a thing for green-haired girls?"

"D'you?"

"We're not talking about me."

"Don' t'ink we been talkin' 'bout anyone else, homme."

Bobby narrowed his eyes though his cheeks blushed, at least as much as possible for a guy. "Lorna's a cool person." He spoke as though the fact was vernacularly known. "So I'm giving her a cool lunch."

Remy moved past, patting the younger boy on the shoulder, "Dat's de way t'get 'em." He entered the kitchen, chuckling to himself. He could hardly recall his first time wooing a femme, and even then, he thought it had almost been an easy, effortless task.

"Something humorous, Mr. LeBeau?" The snowy-haired weather witch stood at the kitchen counter, arranging hunks of ground beef into nicely rounded patties. She wore a sporty one-piece bathing suit over which were a pair of hemp pants and a mesh robe shrouding her ebony skin.

"De pops'cle's got a lil' crush on de new fille," Remy smirked.

Ororo nodded, turned to wash her hands at the sink. "Lorna is very a sweet girl. I am not surprised." She wiped her hands on a towel and lifted the plate of beef patties. "Will you be joining us for the cook out?"

Remy wandered over to the kitchen table, where various fruits and shish-ka-bobs awaited to be served. He noticed the enormously large punch bowl, chilled and pink in citrus quintessence. "Probably," he said, popping a watermelon ball into his mouth. His eyes wandered out the patio door, scanned the various mutants mingling about the backyard.

"She is already out there," Ororo said.

Remy masked his surprise, feigned indifference. "Who?"

The older woman only smiled and carried the steaks outside to be grilled.

Remy chewed his lip for a moment in thought. Had it somehow spread, the news of him and Rogue? It surprised him that he was not annoyed; in the past it would have irritated him beyond measure for rumors to spread about his relations with a femme, people getting ideas and making assumptions. He huffed in amusement. They can assume all they want. He ladled himself a cup of punch and downed it in one gulp.

"Should've known ya'd spike the punch."

Remy slowly turned around. Every time was like seeing her for the first time. The green of her eyes gleamed like always, accentuated by the olive of her spaghetti strap top. Her pale skin glowed with ivory creaminess in the golden light of the sun.

"Y'friends could use de kick," he smirked, playing along.

Rogue strolled into the kitchen, taking her sweet time in approaching him. She was such a tease, and she didn't even know it. "They're rowdy enough without your bad influence."

"M'influence ain't all bad," Remy said. He leaned back against the table, watched as Rogue slowly approached. He noticed the sway of her slender hips, the light swing of her smooth arms. That unntouched skin…it was tantalizing just to look at. "Seems t'work real well on de local femmes."

Rogue rolled her eyes, "Sure, all the boy-crazy ones." She was thinking of Amara, Jubilee, Rahne…

"Dat means you too, river rat. Didn' know y'were so eager."

She pursed her lips, crossing her arms as she stopped half a foot away from him. "Ah am not eager."

"Non? Den why y'showin' all dis skin?" Remy grinned, reaching forward and brushing his finger from her shoulder to elbow. "Y'tryin' t'entice somebody, chere?"

Rogue shrugged, "Maybe."

"Who's de lucky homme?"

"Ya might know him."

"Qui? Must be a charmin' devil t'win a bella femme like you."

Rogue rolled her eyes, a smile twitching at her lips.

"An' he's prob'ly good-lookin', too, hein? De debonair knight in shinin' armor?" Remy leaned forward, slowly closing the distance between them. Dieu, was she always so pretty? "'Course, looks ain't everyt'ing. He's got t'make y'laugh too, keep de time passin'. He ever borin'?"

Rogue shook her head, a smile lighting her face. Then she released a disappointed sigh, lowered her eyes, "But no guy's ever supposed to be that pretty. Ah actually think he's gay."

Remy winced, drawing backwards at the thought. "Aw, chere, why y'got t'ruin de game?" he groaned. "I jus' remembered dat waiter an' his hand on m'rear end." He smiled when she laughed, when she leaned forward and draped her arms over his shoulders.

"Can't play a player, Remy," she giggled.

Giggled.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, wanting to feel the warmth of her adorability. It was amazing how she could be so strong and callous one moment, then soft and feminine the next.

Her emerald eyes glanced curiously behind him, "Ya didn't really spike the punch though, right?"

Remy flashed his trademark smirk, shrugged with feigned guilt.

Rogue scowled, "If ya did, Logan's gonna fallay you like a—" She gasped in surprise when Remy leaned forward, pressed his mouth against hers. Her last thought forgotten, she leaned up and further into him, wanting the closeness she had been deprived of all her life.

His hands caressed her hips, fingers sneaking under the hem of her top and traveling up the small of her back. She shivered involuntarily from his touch, as she always did, and found that all the things he was doing might drive her mad with pleasure. What else could be expected from a girl of such little experience? Sure, she knew the acts of the people she had absorbed, but to feel it herself to the blissful pith of its occurrence…

She released a sensual sigh as his kisses traveled down her throat. Did touch always feel so heavenly? Or was it Remy. It had to be Remy. She was so lost in him that she forgot they were in the kitchen, her team mates only a patio door away from seeing their actions.

Somebody gasped.

Rogue pulled away from Remy and spun around.

Kitty stood frozen near the door, blue eyes wide. She laughed awkwardly, "Oh, don't let me, like, interrupt…" Cheeks flushed, she struggled to keep a straight face as she hurriedly left the kitchen.

Rogue strangely did not feel embarassed. She turned to face Remy when he laughed, then joined in his mirth. There was nothing particularily funny about the situation; still, neither could stop chuckling.

"Does everyone know by now?" Remy asked.

"Why would you think so?"

"Well…Storm knew."

Rogue shrugged.

"Y'don' care?"

"Not really," Rogue said, realizing it just then. "Do you?"

Remy grinned mischieviously and pulled her close again, "Dey can watch if it suits 'em."

A sour expression twisted Rogue's features, "Get ya head out of the gutter, swamp rat."

He laughed again, a deep and comforting rumble. "Chere, chere," he sighed as he played with her hair. "Sometimes I jus' can't help m'self 'round you."

"Ah make you have dirty thoughts?" Rogue huffed, then realized what she had said and blushed noticeably. "Way ta corner myself…"

Her unintentionally suggestive statement only incited more chuckles from Remy. He kissed her on the cheek and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Jus' can't keep y'wits in front o'me, non?"

Rogue rolled her eyes, though a smile snuck onto her face. She kissed him tenderly, fingers trailing along his refined jaw. She wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her cheek against his in contentment. But her own insecurities wouldn't leave her alone; a question nagged at her comfort. "Remy?"

"Mmm?"

She was afraid to ask, wasn't sure if she even wanted to know yet. Maybe it was better to enjoy the time they had, instead of wasting it with dread and regret. But her own stubbornness won against better judgment. "Are you going to leave?" She winced, annoyed that her voice sounded so meek.

Remy said nothing at first, continuing to hold her as she wondered and wondered about his answer. "What if I was," he finally said.

Rogue looked at him, her green eyes fixing on his red. She couldn't hide the disappointment forming on her face, a despair she never wanted to acknowledge, let alone share with anyone. Especially him. Damn pride. "Well, Ah…" Her eyes drooped. "Ah don't know…"

"Would y'come wit' me?"

The question caught her off guard; her heart skipped a beat. "So you are leaving."

"I didn' say dat."

"Then what are you saying?"

"Can't y'answer de question?"

Rogue felt herself becoming slightly unnerved. "Ah asked first."

He watched her for a long while, perusing her features. Slowly he leaned forward until their foreheads rested against each other. "Wasn' plannin' on bein' anywhere wit'out y', Rogue. M' go'n' be wherever you are." His eyes widened when she suddenly kissed him, fervor so great that his head bent back. As she eased away the kiss, he felt dazed and light.

"Ya really are a snake-charmer, Cajun," Rogue whispered against his cheek, a smile in her words. "And ditto."

Moments like these were rare, especially in a life like his. Remy held Rogue closer, remembering everything that had happened to bring them together; the rewards were always more appreciated when wrought through such incredibly heinous struggles. Things were so good, so right, that there was this feeling deep in his gut that something was bound to spoil it.And then it happened.

A third presence cleared his throat.

Remy and Rogue turned towards the kitchen entrance. The Professor eased through the door on his chair. "Remy," he said, "there is someone here to see you."

Rogue stepped away to an appropriate distance. "Old girlfriend?" she glanced at him teasingly.

"Never had one, chere," he smirked.

She laughed dryly, then raised an eyebrow, "Seriously?"

"Rogue, not now, " the Professor said, a vague trace of apprehension in his voice. "It is his…" The words faded as a figure stepped into the doorway behind him. The man was tall and sturdy, taught muscles hidden under his jacket. The light shone on his shaved head, the only hair on his face being eyebrows and an accute mustache. He seemed lethal, friendly, professional, and laid-back all at once.

"Who…" Rogue trailed away as she realized who the man was. Remy's memories....

Remy's eyebrows shot up in surprise, "Henri?"

"Qui, mon frere. Long time no see." Henri smiled and wrapped his younger brother in a rattling bear hug. "Didn' t'ink y'could run 'way forever, did y'?"

* * *

**Remember how I used to go...**

**Next Chapter: Duty**


	36. Duty

**About this chapter,** I realize it's getting…drawn-out, the whole Rogue-Remy tension-angst thing. There's only so much that even I can take without it seeming forced and overdone.

So just to let you all know, if this seems overdone, I know and it had to happen. If it doesn't, good!

Also, the organization of this chapter was rather iffy and kind of…unorganized. So sorry that I got lazy, but don't take it as a downgrade of quality or anything. Go easy on me!

**EmeraldKatsEye:** I'm experimenting with the whole Bobby/Lorna thing. I'm not sure Alex is coming into the picture because, well, I don't like the Evo portrayal of him—what's with the surfer dude outlook? Anyway, we'll see about that. I have no idea who Jean-Paul is, but I probably don't? **Chica De Los Ojos Café:** See, I was questioning if leaving it at that spot was a good thing to do, and it was, judging from your reaction—exactly what I wanted! And yeah, hmm, possibilities here. You'll see. **Freak87:** Since I am just an incredible dork, and I think my gay waiter from that other chapter was such a brilliant deviation from the norm, I just had to bring it up again. Thanks for saying Rogue and Remy's convo was funny—it's hard to think up what they'll say to each other bc I cannot imagine their conversations to be boring! And they can't be embarrassingly cheesey either so…that's what we get. Following Rogue around like a "lost dog"? I feel insulted for Remy! LoL. Well, hon, if _that's_ what you thought… Remy had decided to stay at the mansion with Rogue, but he knew he had to deal with home stuff before he could be at peace. Because, he left New Orleans for a reason yeah? I hate to have to be so like the others, but Gambit's history is Gambit's history no matter what X-Men universe we're in, so I've decided to stick with it. Kind of predictable, but hopefully no less heart-wrenching when it happens. **Texasgrrl:** hmm, I'm not sure if this is bad—well, actually I am but I can't be giving away what I'm gonna do, but still, I think the turn of events is great because that's what fans love. **Sweety8687:** I'm a bit confused… so you _don't_ like the angst? Yet, when it delivers such heart-wrenching moments, you _must_ like it! I really am a bit of a masochist, because quite honestly, I enjoy writing the angsty moments more than I do the happy ones—though the ones in "Bliss" were pretty fun to write. I'm sorry! It IS Henri, and with a purpose, as much as we've all been dreading it. And Rogue doesn't know about Bella. Yet. **GothikStrawberry:** Too much fluff, like everything else, will make you ill. That's why I always have to ruin it with angst, lol. But I mean, we still need the fluff to make things bearable, I think. Your intuition hasn't failed you. **Five-Farthings:** Wow, thanks for all the "wows". I like how my fic has had that effect. We will be seeing a little more of Polaris, but not in _this_ fic. I'll have to research a little more into her. I have a knack for making conversations flow so brilliantly? Oh, thank you! That was one of my biggest worries. And of _course_ it has to do with Belle! Oh damn, my French sucks, probably because it's as good as my Latin and Spanish—which I don't know! I knew it was "Oui" in my head, but for some reason I thought it was "Qui". But isn't "what" in French "Quoi"? Did I at least get that right? **Anda:** Whoa, that was weird. The first two sentences in your review were all coded or something so I couldn't understand anything but a few—oooohh! I _just_ got it right this instant. You must have copy and pasted Remy's quotation from the fic window. Don't you love that line? I tried to think of something that didn't come across as stupid and cheesey. I mean, imagine if I'd written, "I can't stand being anywhere without you. I'll follow you anywhere." Uuughhh… Too typical, too not-Remy. **Flowerperson:** Hmm…I completely forgot about how Logan might react. But you know, I don't think he was too opposed to Remy in this fic as he is in others, you know? They only interacted like once and that was just in the beginning where Logan was giving him a fair warning. But then again, is he is the protective mentor of Rogue. I'll make a note of that. **Funkydomino:** Glad you think it clicked! Many out there don't at all and I try not to be like that. **Ishandahalf:** Oh dear ishy! I totally try to get ppl's hopes up, and then dash them with horrible angst—but I know they enjoy it—so do you! Right? Lol. Anyway, Remy does have low self-esteem, doesn't he? Interesting thought. And I can't blame you for being pessimistic, seeing as how there's a trend in this fic: things always go from good to bad to good to bad… LOl! "I depise her with the hot fiery passion of a billion burning suns." Oh my God—I LOVED that line! I can't stand Belle either! Can't tell whether it's there's any merit to hating her or maybe it's bc she's just sooooo TYPICAL—blond, tall, beautiful, bitchy…. I can't typical-ness. And—well—I—sigh. I really _can't_ help doing the false sense of happiness thing to you guys! You'll love (or hate) me for it later though! Looking forward to your stories! **Nimbio: **ahhahahaha—"the protagonist/male-romance interest", _great_ line. Well, the story will have to end eventually, but the angst and characters and plot—well, that just goes on. I brightened your horrible day? Good! But I hope it wasn't that horrible and I hope it got better. **Orion Kohaishu:** I thought you guys needed a break from all the drama-action-screaming-crying deal. Funny though, because the "doom and gloom" of Gambit and Rogue's relationship is what _makes_ the relationship, you know? Imagine where it'd be without it. I'm looking forward to getting more into Remy's family, all the new characters! I can't wait myself. **Totally Obsessed47:** When there's not much else to say, only say what's to be said. I have no idea what I'm talking about, lol. **Allie:** Whoa, sounds like a wicked computer problem. Doesn't it freak you out when that happens? I get so worried and angsty that I think I might scream! I love my computer. God, it's hideous how we're so dependent on technology. **Aprilangel413:** Well, Henri just missed his brother so he came to have a little chat, go out for lunch maybe, get a tour around Bayville, meet Rogue and the famous X-Men. You know, the normal stuff. Right! How many people would fall asleep reading that! So I'm guessing you can guess why Henri's here. **Epona04:** Yay, I did a good "allrounder". Lots of writers forget that there are other X-Men in the world, too, not just their main characters. We'll see them to be more involved in coming chapters. **Shockgoddess: **I have an inkling about who Chuck Austen is—and he's gone? That sucks. I can't stand the character Julien. Sooner or later he's going to make an appearance, and I'll probably wrong his character purposely, just to make obvious how much of an ass I think he is. Time will tell. Who can say what Rogue will do? She can be unpredictable at times…I'm still debating a few plotlines myself. **Kendokao:** Agh, the cuteness, I'm going to barf, lol. No, it was pretty sweet writing it. Figures there should be some fluffy scenes what with all the drama and action going on. What's next? Read on and see. **Keller:** That was probably the sweetest review I've had yet. It was so sincere and all that—thank you! I'm glad I gave you some heart-wrenching hours, those are the moments we remember. Daydreaming, huh? I get into that about my own fic too, as conceited as that may sound—it helps the time pass at work. **Minnaloushe:** Oh, that whole bit about your after school endeavors was kinda sad. I can completely relate, by the way. And I'm glad I was able to entertain you for a few hours with this fic. More into character than the comics, huh? Thank you! I don't really read the comics, but of what I have seen, the writers make the characters do some heinous things, so I guess I took liberties has to how I wanted them portrayed. "Love In Vain" is one of my fav chapters. That Paris chapter took FOREVER—you don't even know. Man. Anyway, I should really get working on the next chapter. **Lelann37:** Good! I hope you have this same attitude after the last chapter! Henri's just here for a reunion, you know, hasn't seen his little bro in a while. They'll go around town, tour New York…riiiight—how many people would fall asleep reading that? **Lady Godiva:** I totally know what you mean about smiling like an idiot. I did that a lot while reading some other fics. The sweetness just _gets to you_, y'know? Of course you do. **Angel eyes24:** Cliff hanger endings suck. I try to avoid them, I think. I didn't think this was so cliff-hangerish, but with Henri coming with news, well, I guess people can't help but assume.** Iceangel46:** _Napoleon Dynamite_ has gotten such rave since it came out—and I haven't seen it, doesn't seem like my type of movie, so…yeah. Maybe I should. Hmm. I don't think Remy could ditch Rogue even if he wanted to—which he wouldn't. But then again, we'd have a heavy debate on what I consider "ditching" and what everybody else would consider it. Sheesh, I have to stop being so ominous. **Cd lover:** Whoa…I felt like I'd stepped into some zone while reading your review. Your shoulder demon and angel must be interesting company while you're on your lonesome. You can't call X23 Anna! That's Rogue's name! And I'm not sure, the prospect of X23 having a role in this fic is very minimal, but I'll consider it. **Jamie:** Thanks for reviewing. Glad you're enjoying this fic. I'd like to write books; I don't think I have the mind for a comic writer. They go in and out of multiple dimensions and out to alternate universes way too often for me—when it's so sci-fi, I get lost. Haha, sometimes I don't know what word I'm trying to spell. I meant "fallay" to be "flay", not the "fillet", because isn't "fillet" only a noun and not a verb? Anyway, "flay" is what I was trying to say.

* * *

Henri released Remy and held him at arm's length to examine. "See y'been handlin' y'self well, boy," he grinned. "What's de matter, don' care 'nough t' write o'even call?"

Remy's shock gradually faded away. He shrugged, "Been a lil' busy."

"I'll bet," Henri laughed dryly. He suddenly noticed the quiet figure beside his brother. "Ah, who's dis lovely fille?" He took Rogue's hand and planted a gentlemanly kiss upon the smooth knuckles.

"Her name's Rogue," Remy told him.

Henri glanced from the girl to his brother, alerted by Remy's tone of voice. He seemed to be calculating the situation, deducing from the hints before him. Whatever uncertainty he had flickered over his face for only an instant. He patted Rogue's hand, "Enchanté."

"Nice to meet you," Rogue said. "Do ya want something to drink?"

"Non, merci, m'jus' here t'discuss a few t'ings wit' mon frere."

The Professor said, "Rogue, perhaps we should leave Remy and his brother to speak privately."

Remy shook his head, "S'all right, Professor."

Rogue tensed at their tones. "Why do Ah get the feeling Ah'm missing something," she said. The Professor seemed unnecessarily concerned, and Henri was looking at her strangely. It was all unnerving.

Remy's brother looked from one to the other. He stuck his hands in his pockets. "Wish dis's was jus' some lil' reunion, but it ain't. Y'know what m'go'n' tell y', Remy…"

"Den jus' say it an' get it done," he interrupted.

Rogue frowned when an uncomfortable silence ensued. "What's going on?" she demanded. "Is there some big secret—Professor?" She turned towards Xavier, who only shook his head.

"T'ing is," Henri said, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Remy didn' leave home f'no reason. But dat don' mean he ain't got one t'go back." He turned to look at his brother, "She's waitin' fo'y'. We all are."

"She," Rogue echoed.

Henri nodded, "Oui, his fiancé."

It was like a knife in her gut. Rogue blinked, tried to convince herself she'd heard wrong, but the icy feeling that began to grip her chest confirmed Henri's words. "He's engaged." Her voice sounded cold and unyielding, even to her. Familiar feelings returned in a culminating black wave—betrayal, hurt, anger. A lot of anger. A lot of betrayal. Mostly hurt. How could he?

Remy put a hand on her shoulder, "Rogue…"

She didn't hear him. She glanced towards the patio door, where some of the students peered through to see the unfamiliar visitor. They gawked at the sight of Remy touching her—bare skin to bare skin—while nothing happened. She felt their eyes, the Professor's, Henri's, Remy's. Everybody. The feeling of suffocation came like the grip of a vice.

Engaged. Remy had a fiancé. All this time. And all this time he...

Rogue twisted away from him and calmly stalked out of the kitchen, ignoring his shouts. She had never felt more humiliated. Never. She could still feel everybody's eyes on her, on her bare skin, that he was touching.

What did she look like? Was she pretty? She had to be; Remy LeBeau only liked the beautiful femmes. Had he slept with her, ran his experienced fingers along her skin? Had he promised never to leave her? That was silly; that was unnecessary. He had already promised to marry her. No other vow meant more or carried greater weight. No other.

Rogue heard him behind her. She felt him grab her arm and turn her around to face him, but she didn't look up. The next second his fingers went right through her suddenly intangible flesh.

"Chere, wait—"

Rogue turned away and with a poof of smoke, disappeared from view. She couldn't face him now. She wasn't sure she ever could.

-

Lorna's new room was nothing like her old room: the starched sheets, metal bed posts, bleeping machines, and fluorescent lights were so like those of a hospital setting that she couldn't forget that she was "sick". She twisted a strand of wavy green hair around her index finger, sighed. Weeks of her summer had been wasted in a hospital bed, and now it seemed such forced lethargy would continue. She was a strange case, she knew, but she was lucky, too. Many of the comatose mutants had died as a result of the predator's attack; she came out of it with a bit of wooziness, nausea, and headache.

_It's not fair,_ she thought dejectedly, _I just started being a mutant_.

The fuzzy doctor had instructed her not to exercise her powers for the time-being. She had only discovered them a few months before, and they soon became the most exciting aspect of her life. Mutants had been phenomena she only heard about in the news, about strange people who led exhilarating lives she could never have. Even with her weirdly green hair she never suspected herself to be one of them, one of the next steps in human evolution.

She considered magnetically levitating a few objects in the room, just to entertain herself for a little while, when the whoosh of the Med Bay's automatic doors announced someone's arrival. The doctor was probably back to check up on her. She yawned and lay back in bed, feeling the beginnings of another headache growing.

"Hiya." It was not the fuzzy blue doctor. "Thought you might want some lunch." The young man set the food tray on the table beside her bed.

Lorna debated with herself for the second time whether or not she thought he was cute. She liked his hair, though it could be combed in a less preppy-boy way; but his eyes were so baby blue they nearly resembled the sea. She smiled, "Thanks, Bobby. You made all that for me?" She wasn't sure if she had enough appetite to consume such generous amounts of food.

Bobby shrugged, "Hospitality to our guest."

"Patient," Lorna corrected with a forlorn sigh. She massaged her temple, feeling a strange swelling sensation in her skull. It was not a normal headache, she knew, because it was a strange throbbing. She felt as though something was there that shouldn't have been, that her mind was fighting the presence of. Perhaps that was the reason for her fatigue, for her nausea and dizziness. "Jeez…uh, could you hand me that glass of—of whatever it is?"

"Yeah, sure." Bobby tried to give her the glass of gingerale, but her fingers couldn't seem to grasp it. "Here, let me just…" He eased the rim to her mouth and tipped it slightly to give her a few sips.

The fizzy carbon dioxide felt nice simmering down her throat. She blinked several times as the familiar wooziness shrouded her senses. Maybe conversation would distract her from it, if she could focus enough. "So…what makes you a mutant?" she asked bluntly.

Bobby smiled. He held out his palm and ever so slowly, almost in way that seemed artistic, ice crystals began forming upon his skin.

Lorna watched in awe as the frozen particles collected into the shape of a girl. Bobby tossed it to her and she barely caught it, felt its icy coolness against her fingers. "Wicked," she smiled. "Bet you're really handy in the summertime."

"Oh, yeah, icicles everywhere and all the way."

Lorna's smile grew. She had a feeling this guy was likeable.

-

Bobby left the Med Bay in a better mood than when he entered. The whole time conversing with Lorna had passed without acknowledgment; he couldn't remember another time when he thought a girl was as witty, cool, and all-out _real_. Too many were putting on an act—Lorna didn't. In fact, she reminded him a little of Rogue, what with her I'm-me-I-don't-care-what-everyone-else-thinks attitude. But she wasn't as severe, of course.

Whistling as he walked, he decided to the join the others in the cookout. He ambled through the Med Bay lobby, passing Hank's office, when he heard voices from behind the partly open door.

"…strange reactions in her body…could be due to…disturbance to synaptic clasps…"

Curiosity got the better of him: Bobby inched closer to the door, careful to remain hidden against the wall.

"And what exactly does all of this mean?" asked the Professor.

A light scratching noise sounded as Hank nicked at his furry chin. "It is very hard to say at this moment. None of the other comatose mutants are exhibiting this sort of bodily reaction. Granted, this could be some sort of post-traumatic effect. We have no way of knowing how Annabel Velkonnen attacked each individual, or how her particular use of her powers could have affected each victim."

"Like you said, no other mutants are experiencing Lorna's ailments."

"Precisely, which is why I am at a loss. Her symptoms might be warnings of a developing problem, or the signs of her body readjusting to self-sustenance. This could be a matter of simple biology or mutant dilemma."

"And we have no way to be certain."

"Not really. The best we can do is treat her illnesses in the conventional ways until, hopefully, she makes a full recovery—which she has no reason not to. These are not life-threatening discomforts she suffers."

"I understand what you are saying, Hank. Even so I sense something…else the matter here."

Bobby frowned, inching closer to the door.

"What do you mean?" Hank asked.

The Professor remained silent for several seconds. "I cannot say for sure," he finally replied. "I wish to raise no alarms, only that, I perceived something irregular within the girl. Albeit, this is only intuition but…"

"Your intuition rarely leads you false, Charles."

"And that is often more cumbersome than allaying," the Professor sighed. "I will investigate this further. In the meantime, keep doing what you do best, Hank." The whirr of the wheelchair was interrupted as Hank voiced another question.

"Are there any developments in the collar issue?"

"No. Our investigation these past few days have not proved fruitful. The students are not yet aware, and I do not wish to concern them over the matter. But something else has come to our attention."

"What?"

"You recall when Sabertooth came calling, requesting the return of Colossus and Pyro to the Acolyte base?"

Bobby remembered the day. He had been ready to blast the feline to a popsicle state he was so tense. A cold dread crept into his stomach at the memory, crawled up his spine and caused a tingling in his jaw. Sabertooth had mentioned something that day, a project…

"…seems Magneto has been engaging in various recruitment activities."

"To expand his Acolyte team?"

"Possibly, though I do not see what advantages he may gain from that. An expanded team of mercenaries would only demand greater recompenses, in conjunction with being harder to control."

"Perhaps," Hank said, "he is finally gathering that mutant army of his visions. Resolute desperadoes will fight solely for their ideologies, and there are enough human-hating mutants available to fill Magneto's ranks."

"Yes, a possibility," the Professor agreed, "but if that was his sole intention, the enterprise should have been lost in light of his passing—yet Sabertooth is pushing to continue the activity, of which the Acolytes are no doubt overseeing."

"And that continuing forward drive can only be from other parties protecting their interests," Hank continued the thought, "which would give us reason to believe that Magneto was not working alone on this project. This might be bigger than either of us can conjecture at this moment, Charles."

"Yes, yes, that is what concerns me. I suppose it would be wise to consult Gambit on this matter. Nevertheless, it's too early in the day to think of such heavy matters…"

Bobby sensed the meeting's end. As silently as he could, he left the Med Bay, feeling in the clear only when he had entered the west wing. He was irritated with himself for eavesdropping; it always resulted in receiving more information than necessary, more knowledge that only worried him—at least until he found something else to occupy his attention. But even so, what the Professor said about Lorna was disturbing; he'd basically claimed that something was "off" with her, which Bobby could only take to mean she wasn't all there in the head. He hoped she didn't go crazy or anything. Nobody else had these side effects from their comas. What if that Annabel girl had somehow messed up her mind?

He chewed on the inside of his mouth as he made his way upstairs.

And what was this about some recruitment project? And collars? By the way Hank and the Professor were talking, it seemed like some supervillain effort to control the world—as always.

Bobby meandered into his room as thoughts troubling, exciting, and irritating floated about his head. He rummaged through the closet and found his swimming trunks. After changing in the bathroom, he draped a towel around his neck, footed some pool sandals, and left the room. First he would have a relaxing swim, then treat himself to a gourmet hamburger.

Taking a different route to the patio, he passed by Rogue's room. The door sat ajar. He wondered if she was being reclusive again; he had noticed a change in her behavior lately: she seemed to be in better spirits. Bobby had difficulty believing the rumors, that her mood change was somehow because of that cocky Cajun. Rogue wouldn't go for that type—would she?

He saw her through the door, sitting at the edge of her bed, head drooped while she stared at her lightly clutched palms. Bobby squinted at the object in her hands; it was a playing card, the Queen of Hearts. And then he saw what he never thought he would see: Rogue started crying. His eyes widened, and a harsh feeling of guilt struck him in the chest at spying on her in such a way—but he was utterly flabbergasted.

Tiny, barely perceptible tear droplets trickled down her ivory cheeks. Her eyes remained half-closed, as though the thick lashes were too heavy for their lids. She wept in silent stillness, like some inhuman being too pure to wail or distort the serenity of her mien.

Bobby saw the sadness and confusion so clear in her eyes that he was disturbed. What happened? Aware that he was risking harsh rebuttal, he knocked lightly and stepped into the room. "Not in the mood for burgers?"

Rogue's head snapped up. Surprise flashed across her eyes, followed by anger, then exasperation. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and stood up, shoving the Queen of Hearts into the drawer of her bureau. "Want something, Bobby?"

He shrugged, hoping to lighten the mood with nonchalant behavior. "Well, everybody else is outside, enjoying what's left of summer. Kinda wrong that you're locked up in here by yourself."

"The door was open," Rogue bit off. She turned her back to him, staring at herself in the mirror. Her fingers began gathering up the locks of hair and smoothing them back into a messy ponytail.

Bobby sighed, "That's not the point, Rogue. I mean, you seemed okay a few days ago…"

"Okay," she echoed, turning around to face him, "meaning that Ah'm not otherwise?"

"No, just that—"

"Bobby, Ah know what you're trying to do, but Ah don't need or want anyone to try and coax me to join the others," Rogue said flatly. "Don't worry about me so much. Ah am perfectly fine."

Bobby bristled slightly. He was only trying to be nice. "Which is why you were crying, right?" he challenged.

Rogue's eyes flashed. "Nice to know people respect privacy in this place," she retorted.

"The door was open," Bobby shot back.

Rogue rolled her eyes, "That's great, aren't ya clever, using my own words against me. Bravo. Have a gold star. Now get out and leave me alone." She narrowed her eyes, the sadness from before shrouded by annoyance and vexation.

Bobby sighed and scratched his head. "Sorry," he muttered, "just thought I might try and…dunno, crack that shell of yours. Guess I'm not any better at it than anyone else." He turned and headed out the door.

"Bobby, wait."

He stopped five steps into the hall, turned around curiously.

Rogue leaned against her doorway, one hand on the frame. "Ah don't mean to be such a bitch," she said, eyes lowered to the floor. "It's just easier sometimes."

He nodded, "We know, but it's just hard to…deal with you when you act like that. Would it so bad to just tell—"

"If you had personal issues with Lorna, would ya want everybody to know about them?"

Bobby feigned ignorance, "Wha?"

"Everybody knows ya have the hots for her."

"Hey, it's not like that!" Bobby puffed. "Lorna happens to be nice and…what do you mean everybody knows? Knows what?"

Rogue sighed, "Point is, you wouldn't want everyone drooling over your business, right?" After he nodded she said, "So just try and understand…Ah need to be alone." With a half-hearted smile she moved to close the door.

"For what it's worth," Bobby said, "he doesn't seem all that bad." It was the best he could do without sounding too much for the obnoxious pretty boy.

One side of her mouth curved up for his sake. "Ah'm not sure that helps much, Bobby, but thanks for tryin'." She closed the door and disappeared.

Bobby tugged on both ends of the towel around his neck. With a sigh he headed down to the patio.

-

-

-

Most of the furniture was carved from solid specimens of redwood and adorned with sinfully smooth cushions. Various paintings graced the walls, depicting scenes of Paris, Berlin, Venice. The parlor, along with every other room in the Xavier Institute, had been spared no expense in its making. Henri had to admire the luxury that sat all around him. "Y'got y'self a nice fix here," he said. "No wonder y'so disinclined t'come back home."

Remy sat in one of the brown leather armchairs, flicking a card back and forth along his fingers. "Dat ain't de reason an' you know it."

His brother looked at him askance. He smoothed a palm along his bare head, frowned thoughtfully. "Dat femme, Remy, she ain't more important dan de Guild, dan y' duty t' our fam'ly."

Remy's eyes glowed crimson in the faint lighting of the room, lit by anger, by regret, by the irrepressible knowledge that he had screwed up yet again. "Maybe she is," he said determinedly. "Maybe I don' give a damn 'bout de Guild anymore."

Henri's gaze was level and stern; it bore into the younger man with dauntingly potent weight. "Merde, Rem, y'serious? Dis Guild, de T'ieves—dese t'ings are _life_ f'us. No matter how long y've been away, no matter what dese people tell y', y' always go'n' be one o'us. Y'always go'n' be a T'ief."

Remy huffed incredulously. "Jean-Luc know y'so gung-ho 'bout de T'ieves? Must be mighty proud…"

"Quit de sarcastics," Henri cut in, scowling severely. "You an' Jean-Luc may've had diff'rences in de past, but s'time t'put it behind y'. De future's bright an' hopeful. Even Marius agrees wit' dis union. S'de only way t'end de feud."

"De feud's been goin' on long 'nough dat one little marriage ain't go'n' erase de hate," Remy bit off. "An' don' even try t'convince me dat Julien's okay wit' it. He's heinously possessive o'his sister, not t'mention he hates m'guts f'reasons ot'er dan bein' on de opposin' side." He hadn't forgotten the night of the ambush, of being pummeled to a bloody pulp.

Henri began slowly, deliberately pacing the room, eyebrows furrowed in disgruntlement. His mustache swayed infinitesimally up and down as he pursed and loosed his lips. "I always t'ought y'left as some sort o' rebel protest t'our lifestyle, frere…but like I said, s'never goin' away. Y't'ink jus' 'cause y'had a change o'heart, de Rippers gon' leave y'alone? It will never end, Remy. Y'know dat."

"Den why bother wit' me an' Belle marryin'?"

"Y'know why: it'll force de T'ieves an' Assassins t'work t'gether. Once dey joined, both de clans are on de line t'gether." Henri stopped pacing, turned and faced his brother, "Y'know m'right. Y'know dis y' duty t' de Guild. An' y'know y'gon' come back wit' me."

Remy stared at him, eyes smoldering. He thought back to the night he stumbled across Eric Magnus Lensherr, the night he finally had a tangible reason to leave New Orleans. It seemed he was finally parting with the Thieves, that he had left that life behind. But the past would never go away. No matter how much he wanted, no matter how hard he tried, he could never escape his former life. Now it had disturbed the one thing that mattered to him, the one thing that gave him hope for bliss. What was she thinking right now? He had left her to whatever assumptions and thoughts her imagination could invent. Maybe he should go speak with her, try and explain himself before it was too late—

"Dis femme…how she diff'rent from de other ones?"

Remy almost laughed. How was she _not_ different from the others? He merely shook his head in reply.

"Never t'ought I'd see de day when Remy LeBeau got stuck on a girl," Henri huffed, a bit of amusement in his voice. "Y've fallen f'her, haven't y'?"

Remy didn't say a word. He didn't have to.

Henri massaged his bald head, eyebrows furrowing excessively. "S'unnerving t'see y'like dis…still, I know how t'is an' believe it or not, I understand. But it don' change t'ings. De Guild's bigger dan me, s'bigger dan you an' her. Maybe s'better dat she found out dis way. Y'can let go 'fore it gets worse."

The words stirred a memory: A frozen night, its blackness disturbed by silver rays of moon. _It'll only get worse_, she had said. _And when it ends Ah don't think Ah'll be able to handle it._

"Maybe I don' wan' let go," Remy said. "Maybe what's worse is actually what's good." He massaged his eyes, released a breath. As far as he could remember, women had only been a pleasure when they could be had then forgotten. Once they latched on, they became an unbearable inconvenience. But that was no longer the case. Rogue had changed everything.

Who knew what she was thinking, feeling. It couldn't be any better than his present state. All the doubt and frustration only increased his vexation at the situation. Rogue didn't deserve this and neither did he. There was only one surefire thing. "M'not goin' t'rough wit' de wedding, Henri," he said. "I don' care what you or de Guild or Jean-Luc say."

The older man watched him calmly, eyes narrowed. Finally he said, "Your call, Remy. But if y'gon' deliver dat blow, y'better be dere t'explain y'self."

"Planned on it, mon ami."

"Doesn' mean y'bravado's gon' fix anyt'ing."

"Don' care."

"Dey'll be pissed."

"Don' care 'bout dat either."

Henri released a guttural laugh, "Dis fille's _really_ got y'tied 'round her lil' finger, non? Dieu, honestly never t'ought I'd live t'see dis..." He shook his head, half amused, half apprehensive.

Remy stood and placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Don' worry 'bout dis so much, Henri. T'ings'll work out de way dey're s'posed to; if dere's anything I learned here, it's dat. In de meantime, dis is what's gon' happen…"

* * *

**Hfff**, **I totally gave Bobby way more page time **than first intended. Sorry if any of you out there are especially anti-Iceman. Completely unintentional, but no less convenient and somewhat entertaining.

**Next Chapter: One Night**


	37. Torn

**I am ASHAMED of myself** for taking this long to update. I don't know what happened. I usually type a little of a chapter every night with this regular flow, but I haven't touched my laptop for DAYS. I think less of myself right now for putting this fic off for so long, and so should all of you. Shame, shame on me. Things have reached his hectic business again and it's seriously feeling like horrible evil October/November right now. (Those were the worst months of my life!) But I think it's getting a little better…

**I'm also quite shamed that I lied about the title of this chapter. It came out** longer than I planned so…yeah, had to split it up into two. But the next one will be uploaded sooner than this one did, promise!

**Anyway, sorry for taking so long!** You probably won't even remember what these review replies are replying to. I did them as I got them so I wouldn't get behind. At least I planned ahead there!

**TotallyRiddickObsessed:** didn't know you were a Riddick fan. My friend said she was disappointed by that movie (she's so into Vin Diesel) but –shrug—. I am _so_ anti-Bobby in the X-Men movies. What's with Rogue hooking up with him? That's got to be the dumbest thing ever. **Allie:** Ugh, I heartily dislike Belladonna. I mean, for starters, what kind of a name is "Belladonna". Plus she seems like the blond bitch supreme—the typical snob, daddy's little princess. Gag me. And yes, she will always mess things up. I'm having trouble deciding whether I should be completely biased and make her all bitchy, or be a little more kind and make her just an inconvenience. Or maybe both. Heh. This laptop gave me so much grief before—it _better not_ crash again. **Aprilangel413:** What do you want him to do? Hope I deliver. **Freak87:** First before I forget, I have this reply to your email saved on the desktop comp for some reason and I've been meaning to get that sent out, but seeing as how I always use my laptop—it's all just very messed up. Just to let you know! See, the whole predictability of Remy's problems sucks because _everybody_ knows what's going to happen—but at the same time, the whole connection of it, the foreknowledge, gives it a bit of…substance? Can't think of the word. I seriously cannot see Rogue getting overly emotional in front of anyone; running away in sobs and tears? No way would I ever wrong her like that. Agh, can't escape the predictability—I hate that. But I don't want to alter Gambit's history because I happen to like Gambit's history. So we'll see what I can wring out from all this. **Chica De Los Ojos Café:** You liked this chapter a lot? Good! I was worried that I'd lost my touch or something. And I've been looking forward to writing this chapter so enjoy reading it! **Ishandahalf:** -sigh, everybody seemed to know what would happen. I heavily dislike the whole predictability of it, but, I mean, duh, everybody knows Gambit's past, right? Oooh, sorry that I couldn't lighten your day with fluff! Really I am, and that's saying something, but this had to be done, dear ish. Can you imagine going through what this couple goes through? I might have killed myself halfway through the ordeal from so much angst. This was your _favorite portrayal_ of this? Coming from you, avid author and reader, wow, don't know how to say thanks enough to do the compliment justice. I guess silence does say a lot. That's my image of Rogue anyway. She's calm and she has silent anger, and only when she loses control does she explode. I don't like how some people show her as some rash screamer. Quite honestly, I almost forgot about the plot aspects of this fic, too, what with all the Rogue-Remy Lorna-Bobby happenings—hard to keep up! **Minnaloushe:** I love long sentences, lol, I do it all the time. I love Evo bobby, but movie Bobby annoys the crap out of me. Don't you _hate_ how the movie-goers, who know nothing about Gambit, are so into the Bobby-Rogue thing? Ew ew ew ew! I never saw the TAS episode with Iceman and Lorna—wait, I think I saw like _one scene_ while I was flipping channels (I wasn't into X-Men before)—but I like the idea of playing with the two a little bit. Alex in Evo is really, eh, surfer dude-ish so I just couldn't do it. The comics are _incredibly_ heinous! I hate what they do to the characters and plot—it's so extravagant and unrealistic that it drives me crazy. But I mean, I guess you'd have to go there after years and years of issues—run out of ideas eventually, yeah? Wow, you're about the first that's told me to take my time! Everyone's always rush rush rush, but I take my time anyway—actually, I pressure myself to deliver faster. Heh. **Lelann:** Thank you! I don't think Remy's going to be speaking much with Jean-Luc in this fic. Not yet anyway. Next story most likely. **Cd lover:** Do you even know what X23's name is? LOL. Kitty wasn't in this chapter? I'm just too busy introducing other characters. Besides, she gets enough attention anyway. Polishing? I'm a little confused as to what, lol. **Sweety8587:** I think everyone has a love/hate relationship with angst—but many don't know it, so they complain when it happens. They just don't see that it's the hardship and struggle that causes stories to stick with them. I'm not sure if you're grasping at straws. I don't really know what that means. But here y'go, see what happens! **Five-Farthings:** Yay, I love Evo Bobby, too. Movie Bobby sucks but Evo Bobby is hilarious. Lorna's just full of problems, that's all. Heh. You'll have to wait and find out then. Hey! I forgot you were writing a fic with me in it—cool! Can't wait until I get the first chapter. **Texasgrrl:** fine? Good. I seriously thought I'd lost my touch. **Xmengirlzrule:** Yay, I love new readers. Hope you enjoy this fic and tell me what you think about it. Any and all comments welcome. **GothikStrawberry:** Hopefully everything will be all right…sorry! I'm doing that "leading readers on" thing when I always lead in the wrong direction on purpose…so just read on and don't listen to my babble. **Funky domino:** If I rushed, the story'd suck, I think. I'm losing sense of how long I go between updates—they kinda go up when they get done…so hopefully this one didn't take too long. **Flowerperson:** Everyone knew Belladonna would get in somehow! Agh, hate the predictability! But oh, well, that's only 'cause everybody knows about Gambit's history so—duh. I hate Belladonna, too, you have no idea. Almost as much as Emma Frost. "Stupid cow", hahaha. Logan must see himself as some father figure or something. **Anda:** How do you know he's not going to marry Belladonna? How do you know Remy won't just leave and never come back? How do you know everything won't go to hell? Oh, there I go again, being unnecessarily dark… hahaha, I just can't have to sometimes. **TheBabyPhatPrincess:** I don't think you've ever reviewed before, so thanks for doing it now! I love new reviewers. I'm glad you think so highly of all this. Very flattering. Yeh…Bobby definitely got too much attention. **Enchantedlight:** thank you! Back to four words I see…I think you've only strayed from this habit like two times ever. **Orion Kohaishu:** Dude. Thanks. Lol. You'll get more. Enjoy this chapter especially. Duty _is_ a bitch. **Lady Godiva:** Maybe despite how much he tries, Remy can't escape the Guild, the past. I think I made a point of that for a paragraph… and LOL, yeah! It _does_ depend on how evil I'm feeling. Seriously, that made me chuckle there. Oh, don't worry. Rogue will definitely not be stupid. I mean, she's only upset bc of what she believes. He didn't have a chance to explain, right? **Keller:** Yeah, I just can't go without the conflicts. That's the only reason I do this, honestly. Well, that and that it's fun, too.  Oh, daydreaming is great. I could do it for hours. **SarQueen4:** Totally right, it's like Gambit's life is just one let down after another. How can you go on after so many set backs? I'll never know…**SickmindedSucker:** I considered making Rogue blow up (in a Rogue-like way of course), but then I decided if she _had_ blown up, she wouldn't have been Rogue. I seriously can't see her throwing a hissy fit at Remy. Tons wrong with that picture. **Jamie:** My Gambit here looks exactly like Evo Gambit (maybe without the goatee thing going on…) but yeah, he does talk different. Evo Gambit didn't have the true Gambit accent so I had to modify that. Can't be totally Cajun without sounding like one! Hahaha, I absolutely HATE Rogue and Bobby in the movies, too! I think it's the dumbest idea to grace the mind of marvel. And what's worse, everybody supports it with the "Oh, the actor that plays Bobby is so hot" "They look cute together" blah blah blah—gag! You're giving up X-Men for Lent? My story's not going to be done by then! I think you should pick giving up chocolate or something. **Artistlil349:** Thank you. Glad you enjoy it. I love having new reviewers. **Misswildfire:** Do you think all guys are like that? Where they know one thing will end all the misery but they don't do it bc of pride or frustration or uncertainty or doubt…that's Remy's dilemma—I think. It's late. I'm not really thinking right now. –yawn—, hope I didn't overly confuse you or anything, heh. **Epona:** all the "brilliants" you gave me nearly made me blind they shined so brilliantly—okay, that was a lame attempt at metaphor or whatever that was, if it was anything. Can you tell I'm not all here right now? Heh! **Shockgoddess:** See, I had that thought: that ppl should just accept someone for who they are. But then you have think, what if they don't? Just because a person doesn't exactly have it super easy in life (like Rogue), doesn't give them the right to become…unlikable and unpleasant to be around. Doesn't that seem like feeling sorry for yourself? And people don't have to accept you for that bc you inevitably make them feel bad just being present—so I don't know. Anyway, I inserted Bobby for future plot references. Hff, why would I give him any importance? So conniving, huh, using Lorna and Bobster's relationship as a little plot thingy for Remy and Rogue. Oh well! And yes, I have gotten extremely busy with stuff—AGAIN. Kinda freaking out what with physics projects and algebra exams…I hate the real world! How great it would be to just retreat into the net forever. But that's depressing and sad!

* * *

There had only been one instance in time that Rogue truly wished she was Jean Grey. A little over a year ago, a month before graduation, all the girls at Bayville High were aglow with excitement and anticipation. They gathered together at each other's houses, curling their hair, painting their faces, adorning themselves with strings of glittering jewelry… Their outfits had been chosen months before, that year's latest fashions for prom.

Rogue remembered what Jean's dress had looked like: it was a strapless gown of a glowing creamy hue, alloying with her milky skin and granting her a celestial countenance. Her flaming scarlet hair had been pulled into an elegant upsweep, loose curly strands brushing against her shoulders. Jean had looked like a princess. Right out of a fairy tale. And her prince was Scott.

Until that night, Rogue had never felt a stronger dejection. She sat, half hidden behind the staircase banister, watching the happy couple below. Watched as Scott looped a corsage around Jean's slender wrist, as he gave her a kiss on the cheek, as she smiled graciously in return. Ororo took pictures as they posed together in their formal attire, for their special night.

And Rogue wished for nothing but to be Jean Grey. Jean Grey with her beautiful dress; Jean Grey with her knight; Jean Grey who would have one perfect, normal evening. Because the Rogue would never have those things, _had never_ had those things. Nobody asked her to prom; they were afraid and stayed far away…

Wasn't solitude was what she wanted? And, yet, at the same time, so aggravatingly true, it wasn't. It was her malign skin, the pretense for her reclusiveness. But she wanted it that way; life was simpler without having to deal with too many people, too many relationships. She would've preferred things this way even without her powers. It was easier. Oh, but what she wouldn't have given that night to go to prom, to dance and sway in a beautiful gown, to be a normal high school girl….

Rogue blinked, looked around at her surroundings. She had wandered out of the mansion, sat herself upon the rooftop outside her bedroom. The sun shone ahead, glaring in her vision so she had to avert her eyes; it had already begun its inevitable descent into the horizon. How long had she been sitting there, daydreaming the time away?

She hugged her knees tighter to her chest, rested her forehead on them. Prom had come and gone without her; high school was over. Her skin was no longer a problem; she didn't have that excuse anymore. So things should have changed. Her life should have gotten better. The sadness should have disappeared.

But it didn't. She was still sitting on that roof, alone as always, as ever.

"Room for two out here?"

Rogue lifted her head, startled. She remained silent.

Logan pulled himself onto the shingles, crawled over, and sat two feet away, slightly behind her. "Never figured you for a sky gazer," he said. His knuckles cracked as he started twisting the joints. "Guess I don't really know everything about you."

Rogue frowned, wondering where this was going. She grew unnerved.

"Which's obvious," Logan grunted, "when you're at this moody age." He cleared his throat. "And I know I'm the last person you should be taking advice from but…" He growled and mumbled something under his breath, scratched his head. "Dang it, Stripes, I thought you were smarter than this."

Her face scrunched up in distaste for his words. She huffed and turned away, purposely blinding herself with the not-quite-setting sun. "Logan, Ah know ya hate having ta play the wise dad so Ah'll just save you the trouble. Ah'm gonna do what Ah want and if Gambit's my choice, then you'll just have to deal with it."

"So it's true then," Logan said, tone not incensed so much as curious. "You hooked up with that Cajun?" Before Rogue could reply, he released a dry laugh, "Of all the types in the world, Stripes, I'd've never pinned Gumbo for yours."

Rogue couldn't decide whether or not to be offended.

"Doesn't mean I like it," Logan added sternly. "That boy's gotten around; he ain't some fresh pick off the field. And right now, I'm seeing the upshots of that past in your lil' romance."

Resentment sparked heatedly in her chest. She felt it constrict her breath. What right did Logan have to regard her and Remy like that? He couldn't know about the doubt and hurt, the need and frustration. He couldn't know, and she couldn't tell him.

Then he said the most unexpected: "But just 'cause it's hard, doesn't mean you give up."

Rogue frowned in shock and suspicion, "What?"

"You were different these past few days, kid. Guess I could say…less gloomy," he grumbled. "And I find it mighty hard to believe it's 'cause of that backwater Cajun, but…seein' is believin'." He scratched his head again, smoothed the stubble on his jaw. "Not sayin' the ride's gonna be smooth, but you shouldn't be rash. Like this whole fiancé…thing for example."

Rogue whirled around to face him, eyes flashing, "How do you know about that?"

"Professor," Logan replied nonchalantly. He shrugged, "You think I wasn't gonna find out what got you all bitchy again?"

"You think I'm a bitch?" Rogue demanded, mouth gaping.

Logan released an exasperated sigh, "Didn't say that and besides, ain't the point. But, kiddo, I hope you get what the point is. 'Cause I do hate playing the wise dad."

Rogue sighed and hugged her knees tighter. She knew he was right. When Henri's revelation first hit her, it had been one hell of a blow; but after all this time contemplating it… "Ya know about my powers, too?" she asked Logan.

He nodded.

"Ah was gonna to tell everyone…"

Logan shrugged, "Privacy's a right."

"You're letting me off too easy," Rogue said, only half kidding.

Logan grunted. "Must be gettin' soft." He patted her on the shoulder and moved to climb off the roof. As he lowered himself onto the balcony, he said, "Get the truth first then decide what to do," and disappeared.

Rogue stared at where he had been for a few moments, then sighed and closed her eyes. Things were always so hard with her—one complication after another. She couldn't help but wonder if Jean and Scott ever had these problems, ever had these doubts. Or was their relationship so normal that they could enjoy each other's company free of miserable insecurity?

Rogue blinked back tears. She didn't want this to go on; she wasn't sure how much tougher she could be, how thick her skin truly was. Blow after blow had come, and her resiliency had not yet failed. But for how much longer? She was sick of it; she was tired of watching her every comfort be leeched away by bad luck and misfortune. This had to end.

She crawled off the roof, entered her room.

Kitty sat on the floor reading a magazine. Her face scrunched in worry, "Rogue? You okay?" She set the magazine aside and stood to her feet.

"Ah'm fine."

Kitty watched her apprehensively. It was as if she knew what ran through her roommate's mind. Hesitantly she asked, "What are you…what are you going to do?"

"To end something that shouldn't've started," Rogue replied. With a forlorn smile she turned and left the room.

-

-

-

"So this is your choice?"

"Wasn' really a choice, Prof."

"When will you be departing?"

"Soon."

Xavier nodded. "It is very noble of you to do what is best for your family, especially when it is at your own expense."

Remy resisted the urge to huff. He stood in his room of the Institute, garbed in his figure-fitting uniform and trademark trench coat. A small duffle bag lay open on the bed for him to fill. He realized suddenly that he didn't really have anything to put in it. "M'not marryin' Belladonna," he said. "M' jus' goin' back t'survey de situation. Dere's no way m'walkin' down dat aisle."

"Your brother seemed very doubtful before he left."

"Henri's the careful, cynical type. Dis de way s' always been in de Guilds; watchin' me challenge 't shakes him up." Remy zipped up the duffle bag and left it on the bed. He wouldn't be needing it. "Henri's got a level head on his shoulders. He's go'n' back first t'break de news, hopef'lly calm everybody down a lil'…"

The Professor nodded understandably as he listened. "You do not seem too optimistic."

Remy sighed at what an understatement the man's words were. Truthfully, he couldn't see a happy resolution to this. Jean-Luc was as intrusive towards him as Marius Boudreaux was scornful; Jean-Luc would always tell him what to do and Marius would always regard him as an irritant.

"Dis's jus' deir way o'controllin' me again," he said contemptuously. "S'never been diff'rent. Once y'in de Guild, dey own y'."

To his credit, and maybe naiveté, the Professor disagreed. "No one can control you so long as you take action for yourself," he said. "You know this, Remy. You have always known this. That is why you found reason to leave the Thieves in the first place. Do not give up now. That is oftentimes more disastrous than straying from command and expectation."

Remy huffed dryly, "M'sure me runnin' off ain't go'n' skewer de peace dey're plannin'…"

The Professor remained placid, "I speak of the individual, Gambit. It is not selfish to think of oneself from time to time." He offered a half-hearted smile and turned to wheel himself towards the door. "I know these discussions might be getting quite hackneyed of late, but I only wish for you to know…there is always a choice." The closing door marked his absence.

Remy moved from the bed to stand at the window. He gazed outside at blooming oranges, pinks, violets, and reds. The sun was setting. Another day would soon end. His jaw tightened at memories of New Orleans.

There were plenty of days where he and the other boys could enjoy themselves, spreading mischief about the Big Easy until they were notoriously recognized. But there were other times, potent times, that Remy would never forget, moments where it seemed he was chained, forced to obey at every steely order. This was never made obvious; the commands came under guise of suggestion and advice; yet nothing was ever expected but fealty and obedience. He never protested, probably wasn't even aware of it most of the time except for predictable pangs of annoyance and incitement. It was duty. It was responsibility. It was family and work and life. Being a Thief was life.

Remy ran a hand through his hair and thought of the women he had scorned, the friends he had betrayed, the unethical deeds he had committed—all for the Guild. Because he didn't care about anything else. Ambition spurred him on to become a better and better Thief, to eventually ascent to that coveted position of guild patriarch—but had he ever really wanted it? Yes, there would come power. Yes, there would come luxury. Yes, there would come affluence… Yet, ambition would only take him so far before he snapped under the burdens. Being the best of a trade wasn't as wonderful as the masses were led to believe. He knew this. So he had left with Magneto.

And now the Guild had come calling.

Remy adjusted the collar of his trench coat, straightened the nooks and snags of his uniform. He made sure of the location and security of his bo-staff and other customary gadgets. Then he left the room.

The two boys, Ray and Roberto, had informed him earlier that his Harley Davidson sat safely in the garage. Remy planned to ride it back to the Acolyte base, greet and bid Piotr and St. John au revoire, then head for his private New York City apartment. After packing a few things, he could be off to New Orleans.

Remy made it all the way to the staircase landing. His eyes flicked in the direction of the girls' dormitory. And he froze. Rogue's room sat in view, the door ajar. A faint light was on within, illuminating streaks of warmth through the door cracks. Was she in there? He hadn't planned on leaving Bayville without saying good bye first, but the temptation of putting it off till the very last minute was awfully strong.

He shut his eyes and turned away.

The X-kids were causing mischief downstairs. Something exploded in the rec room, followed by peals of laughter and aggravated rebukes. Remy moved away from the source of noise. Fate would be playing heinous games with him if he were to bump into someone; justifying actions was a bitch.

He figured the safest route would be to cut through the kitchen, leave through the patio door, and go around the mansion to the garage on the other side. He was less likely to see anyone that way. Nobody would know where he was or whether or not he had left or stayed. Their uncertainty would give him time to decide and act.

The kitchen was empty. Remy strode through resolutely. Without warning the pantry door swung open. He walked right into it, shoving it back against a dainty figure behind. A girly shriek erupted and someone toppled to the linoleum. Startled, Remy stepped around the door to find a green-haired lass on the floor, a bag of potato chips torn open beside her.

"Sorry," she mumbled, cheeks tainting pink. "I'm—uh—well, nobody'd give me proper junk food so I got kinda desperate." She struggled woozily to her feet.

"S'fine, p'tite," Remy said, steadying her by the arm. "Y' all right now?"

Lorna nodded, pushing aside her rich green locks. "Oh, yeah, fine," she assured him. When she looked at his face, she gave a start then immediately calmed. "You must be that Gambit guy. Cool eyes. Are they part of your mutantness?"

Heavy thoughts burdened Remy's mind, but he couldn't help but smirk at the girl's word choice. "Oui, an' y'must be Lorna Danes," he replied. "Nice hair."

Lorna blushed under the attention of an older, gorgeously debonair young man. "Thanks. Kind of annoying sometimes—people just think I'm punk or something."

"Sure is an eye-catcher," Remy said absent-mindedly. He helped her to sit in a chair, glancing cautiously back to the kitchen door. "Make sure y'get back t'dat bed 'fore de Doc finds y'disobeyin' orders."

Lorna huffed. "I've been stuck in bed since I got here. And I'm not getting better anytime soon…" She frowned curiously as she winced, as though uncertain about what caused her discomfort. Her lime eyes spontaneously flickered around the kitchen, seeing nothing. "What'd you say?" she asked Remy, rubbing the back of her skull.

He blinked, "Quoi? Didn' say anyt'ing."

"I could've sworn…whatever." Lorna shook her head in exasperation, vigorously rubbed her eyes. "God, no wonder my parents kicked me out. They're not even my real parents so they can't deal with this… And I've been stuck in bed for weeks, not getting any better despite what that doctor says. I'm actually hearing voices in my head now!" She laughed dryly, bordering on the brink of hopelessness, then seemed to remember she wasn't alone. "Sorry, I don't usually whine like this. I'll get back to bed now." Embarrassed, she stood unevenly to her feet. When Remy tried to help she waved him off, "Uh-uh, no need. I made it up here; I can get back." She started for the Med Bay.

"Ey, p'tite," Remy called.

Lorna turned around curiously.

"Chin up," he said. "T'ings can' stay bad forever, d'accord?"

She looked at him for a few seconds, then a wan smile curved her faintly green lips. She turned, and with hands on the walls, made her way back to bed.

Remy sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He had delayed long enough, and just to confabulate with some mutant girl he hardly knew. Back in the day, he wouldn't have wasted the time. Maybe things had changed more than obviously so. As he walked out the kitchen and around the mansion's exterior, the curious part of him wondered about Lorna's ailment (why would she be hearing voices?), though only for a few seconds. The garage came into view. Luckily for him, someone had left the gate up.

Remy spotted his motorcycle propped against the wall. He kicked up the stand and wheeled the bike outside. He led it around the building, each step bringing him closer and closer to the front, closer and closer to departing. He didn't want to acknowledge that once he left, he might not work up the nerve to return, no matter how much he intended to. Life always seemed to work out that way for him.

He stood before the Xavier Institute's front steps. The plan was to leave, settle the last of Acolyte business, get stuff ready in New York, then come back? It seemed so very inefficient, running around back and forth…

Remy lifted the helmet from its hatch; he freed the straps and raised it towards his head. He paused. From behind him the front door slowly opened. After a few moments it closed. He knew who it was without having to turn. His arms lowered and he turned his head infinitesimally, unwilling to face her point blank. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her approach.

"Didn't expect this," she said flatly. She released a dry laugh of disbelief and hugged herself. When Remy turned to look at her, he saw the amber hues of twilight embracing her with a soft, warm glow, shrouding her in a veil of delicacy, of tragically tarnished innocence. He looked away in shame. Her eyes remained fixed on him, questioning, doubtful. Afraid?

"I was jus' go'n' to…" Remy couldn't remember the rest of the sentence. What _was_ he planning to do? Disgust at himself boiled at the pit of his stomach. He was just going to run. He told himself he was coming back, but somehow he knew that would he end up explaining about Belladonna through a phone call or letter, heck maybe even email if it was faster. Always the easy way out for him. Especially when things hit too close to the heart.

Rogue looked at him expectantly. Her heavy gaze only further inhibited his words.

_Snap out o'it, LeBeau_, he scolded himself. He shook his head, set the helmet on the motorcycle seat. He ran a hand through his hair. "Don' even know what t'say," he muttered. "Dis is…" He shook his head again, looked away.

Rogue descended the last of the steps. She stood before him, willing him to look at her, but he kept his gaze averted. "After all the crap we've been through, you're just gonna pack up and leave. Without a word. Like…like ya don't care." She sounded defeated and tired, as though she had given up on something.

"Was go'n' come back," Remy said, knowing how it looked. "Dere're jus' some things I have t'take care of…" The words faded, sounded so shallow and insensitive. He looked at her with utmost sincerity, "Chere, m'sorry I didn' tell y'sooner. Really."

Rogue suddenly released a curt laugh, scornful and condescending. "Ah feel like time's just rewound or somethin', like we didn't get past all those heinous problems and we're just where we started again…" Her bottom lip quivered as she looked at him with steady eyes. "Where neither of us trusts the other enough to accomplish anything."

Her words stung. But what did he expect? To her it seemed he had kept his engagement a secret on purpose, betraying her trust. She might have thought he loved Belladonna or something, that he was purposely keeping such a commitment from her for whatever twisted Thief ends…

"What's Belladonna like?"

Remy stared at her. How did she know her name? Then he remembered Rogue had absorbed him; she was bound to have some of his memories. Then he wondered why she hadn't figured out sooner that he had a fiancé—but she probably didn't go digging around the memories of her psyches on purpose…

"Is she pretty?" Rogue continued to ask, with almost childlike curiosity.

But Remy saw her self-inflicted torture. "She's nothing compared t'you, Rogue," he murmured. "Nothing at all."

Rogue narrowed her eyes as if to say 'Don't start'. She blew a snowy strand of hair from her eyes and sighed shakily. "Ah don't know why this always has ta be so hard," she said dolefully. "Ah mean, is it even worth it? Why do we do this to ourselves? As if our lives weren't messed up enough without all this drama…"

Remy frowned, "What y'sayin'?" He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Rogue seemed to lose track of her thoughts. She looked past him, became preoccupied with the sunset, with memories as gracious as the warm blushes that streaked the darkening sky. She blinked, and her lashes batted weakly against her pale cheeks.

He watched her every movement, observed her every detail—and it all felt like some masochistic torture.

"Remy…" she said breathily, eyes still fixed on the sunset. "Ah'm sorry."

He took a step toward her. "What do you have t' be sorry for, chere?" he asked gently. _He_ was the one that was engaged. _He_ was the one that was messing up so horribly. She was always so hard on herself, he knew. She would always find some way to place herself at fault. He didn't want that to happen.

She backed away from him. It was like a slap to his face. "Ah was looking for ya," she said, "when Ah realized you were leaving and...Ah'm not sure what Ah expected, but Ah guess it was too much. Ah can't keep putting all this on you…"

"Rogue, I was go'n' t'explain. Sooner or later," he added, for honesty's sake. He wouldn't make himself out to be some righteous knight. It was the last thing he was.

"Later," she quipped sadly, "very much later, looks like." She forced a smile, however wan it was. "This is probably for the best anyway," she said. "Ah mean, life'll be simpler when we're out of each other's ways, right?"

Her tone was unnerving, her suggestion atrocious. It took all his self-control to keep from grabbing her and never letting go. "M'not sure what y'getting' at, chere," he lied, "but don' get all determined 'bout somet'ing 'fore y'hear de whole truth. Belle an' I aren't…it isn' what it sounds like."

Rogue huffed softly, "That you're engaged? That your brother came to fetch ya for the wedding?"

"Rogue…"

"Just go, Remy," she said, with such stern resolution that she seemed to be trying to convince herself of its rectitude. "Ah think we both need the space to think things through."

"Think what through?" he suddenly blurted. Frustration mounted to its peak—confusion towards her request, loathing towards his rash actions. She was right in some aspects—why did they do this to themselves? "Dis ain't 'bout me an' Belladonna anymore, is it?" He strode forward, grabbed her shoulders, firmly turned her to face him. "Y'questionin' us, me an' you. Y'don' t'ink s'worth it? Dis one heinous break-up, chere, 'cause I know y'don' wan' t'call it quits."

Rogue shoved his arms off, glaring through quickly welling eyes. She desperately blinked the tears back. "Well maybe Ah've just had enough!" she hissed. "Maybe Ah'm fed up with this twisted rollercoaster, with everything that keeps going wrong, and always having the good moments ruined just when they start and all these secrets that make me wonder whether or not you're even who Ah think ya are and—and—" She clenched her eyes shut, hand going up to massage her forehead. "Ah have this feeling…that it'll never stop," she said, voice bereft of its former vehemence. "Me and you, we'll always be like this. Hurting. All the time." She shrugged, an absurd gesture of nonchalance, "Feels like that anyway."

Remy finally understood her point. And he agreed somewhat. Their entire relationship had just been riddled with doubt and insecurity, with pain and wounded emotions. Maybe it wasn't the outside world that was tweaking with their lives. Maybe it was just them. And yet he couldn't accept that vile cliché of "not meant to be". Wouldn't.

"Dis isn't what y'want," he told her. "It isn't what I want."

"So?" Rogue challenged, voice quaky, as if she didn't want to speak those words. "Who cares what either of us wants? Things'll work out the way they're gonna. And Ah'm tired of fighting, of trying and always getting trampled over." She expelled a shaky breath, "Just go, Remy. Please. At least for now."

He could. He could go and come back after they'd both had time to think and calm down. But some gut instinct warned him that if he left now, there was no way to salvage the situation, to keep Rogue from permanently shutting him out. So why did he want to? To give up just like she did? Maybe if she wasn't willing to keep going, he shouldn't be either. Her words held sway, seemed reasonably plausible—but how could they know what tomorrow would bring? What if all troubles and angst ended…? He suddenly realized Rogue could only take—would only take—so many blows before she could take no more. Him, too, probably.

She had already turned around and was walking slowly up the mansion steps.

He watched in silence, not quite believing what had just happened. With every step she took, a little bit more of him was chipped away to a black void. He saw her hesitate. Did she want him to stop her, to run after her and completely disregard those seemingly resolute convictions?

Rogue scaled the last steps and entered the mansion. She disappeared with the click of a closing door.

A late summer breeze wafted past, rustling the grass and trees. Remy looked down at the pavement before lifting his head to the darkening sky. The last remnants of twilight fought for sway among the dominating blues and black, but soon the sun completely disappeared and all light had gone out.

Remy strapped on the helmet and mounted his motorcycle. He revved the engine loudly, purposely trying to drown out any thoughts. He couldn't think right now, couldn't quite feel either. He didn't want to. As he peeled away from the mansion, he looked back once to see if she was watching. She wasn't. Jaw tightening, he stepped on the accelerator, wishing the gusty wind to increase its deafening roar.

* * *

Ouch, huh? Don't get too depressed-feel like I have to say that in case there are too many angry readers... But things are gonna get better! And this _next_ chapter is the one called "One Night"-sorry for that inconsistency. 


	38. One Night

**Enjoy this chapter, guys.** It's one of the last ones. I can't believe it's coming to a close so soon! **AND check for review replies!** I reply to _everybody._

**Didn't mean to falsely advertise a/b frequent updates!** I'd go into a lengthy apology but you guys understand, I'm sure, and I'm also sure you guys don't care about me being sorry as much as you want to get reading—this was 14 pages in MSWord by the way. Phew. So go!

**LOVE** your review replies! They always cheer me up and some of you actually all out make me laugh.

**Texasgrrl:** first to review! Yay. Both of them get on my nerves, too. But aren't people like that in real life? Well, maybe not _exactly_. In a perfect world things would guy as you say and—nah. We love the angst. **Xmengirlzrule:** I want to write real books. I'm working on some, but I can't muster the drive like I can with this fic. This is way more fun than starting from scratch on a shallow idea of my own. The whole X-Men thing already has a foundation, y'know? **Sweety8587:** What about "One Night", huh? Just keep on eyein', hon. And just to clear up, I'm not "loneraven". I think that's someone else's name. I'm just Raven—that freaked me out a lil' bit. "one of the best written non-break-up's ever"—that made me laugh. Who woulda thought there'd be such a thing as a "non-break-up"? **Five-Farthings:** Heart-wrenchingly beautiful—we're such a masochistic bunch. Yes! The urge to grab them and shake some sense into them, that's the type of fervor I want to incite in readers. Glad I'm doing it right. Imagine Logan having kids—what a strange thought. Hmmm. **Flowerperson:** Oh, have a tissue, hon. It is very depressing. I was debating whether or not to change it but too late now. **GothikStrawberry:** Is Jean and Scott's relationship effortless—I don't know. But looks like it to me, if you exclude the typical teen angst things nobody cares about. See, Logan can be kind sometimes. **Minnaloushe:** That's the whole point of Rogue and Gambit, isn't it—the whole good-bad-good-bad-good-bad rollercoaster Marvel puts them through. That's why it's so fun and easy to write a fanfic about these characters; there's such a strong, broad foundation that I can pick and choose and filter my way to my own story. Awgh! "that silly card guy"? And god it drives me crazy when people love movie Bobby so much. "He's so cute"—gag. I wish the comics didn't do go sci-fi crazy in their story arcs—there's enough interesting "abstract and real" stuff in the world to work with. But I guess that's what happens when creativity runs low. I _hate_ how Alex is such a surfer dude. Hff, like I was gonna write guys in my fic with lines like, "Whoa, dude, that totally rocked." **Chica De Los Ojos Café:** We all love our angst here—it's what separates us from the other freaks, lol. We won't get to New Orleans in this particular fic…hint, hint. **TotallyRiddickObsessed:** I think that was the Ultimate series where the Rogue-Bobby-Kitty-Gambit thing happened. I never read it though, and that was the first story arc of Ultimate X-Men with Remy in it too. But then again, I'm not big on the comics. I own two—which were joke Christmas presents from my friend who was amused when I said I was really a dork who thought comics were cool. I don't think she believes me. **Enchanted light:** Whoa! You didn't stick with your "great chapter! Update soon!" line—I am im-pressed. Everybody's stupid—especially Rogue and Remy. Just look what they do to each other… **Ishandahalf:** oh, dear, ishy! I am incredibly ashamed for delaying so long on the chapter, and then to deliver a depressing one, too! How sorry for you. You wanted to stop reading after the "end something that never should've started" line? Really? Whoa. Well, _I_ put you guys through this torture bc it's way too fun. I love to wrench it outta y'all. I'm so glad ppl have been receiving this chapter so well. I was really doubtful about it—but it made sense why Rogue and Remy did what they did. Thank you for saying they were in character—that is ultimately my goal. I _do_ say things are going to get better a lot—but I haven't lived up to my word—yet. Patience. And alas, we won't be seeing New Orleans in this particular fic. Hint. Hint. **Abril4:** depressing is like my forte or something—if that makes sense. And it's not just Remy doing this to Rogue—they're doing it to each other. I don't want Remy to seem like the bad guy when Rogue is just as much at "fault". Sort of. Or maybe it's just the world—wait, I said in the chapter that it was them—maybe. I am so wishy-washy. **Lady Godiva:** It seems lots of people wanted to scream at me—which was exactly why I PUT that endnote at the chapter's closing. Phew. Would've had a bunch of ornery reviewers otherwise, I think. I know!—Can you imagine seeing the guy you love just ditch you? I'd be wounded beyond words. I can't give him a break, lol. Otherwise the two'll live in a perfect world where they can just be together and nobody would read my fic. And I know what you mean about feeling for Remy—it's like these characters aren't even real, but they embody so much that's evident in life, others as well as our own, that we embed the tribulations into ourselves. Did that make sense, or did I venture too way out there? **SickmindedSucker:** You're the only person that said you weren't depressed—you have stamina, bc I know I've done this over and over again, lol. Hahaha, Logan walking Rogue down the aisle! That was an image! But hey, very possible. **Freak87:** Well, if you say it like that, I better not get self-deprecating. Nice to see somebody cares ;-). But really, I hate going days without writing at least a few paragraphs—not only am I cheating myself of "writing practice" (English skills!) but also because it's fun, like watching TV where I call the shots. God, I'd kill Rogue in my story before I let her break down and bawl for no warranted reason—I hated that in other fics. Ech, like a bad after taste. Logan had to be a little crass—can't have the toughie becoming too soft—God forbid! We need tough Logan. Yes, yes, yes, Rogue and Gambit are very stubborn and headstrong (is that even word, must be, MSWord isn't putting little red squiggles under it—haha, squiggles is a word too, apparently). You are like the fifth person to shake a fist at me and the third to threaten retribution lest I twist Rogue and Remy's relationship anymore—that is prêt-ty funny. **Dana:** there aren't enough ouches to do justice to it, huh—well, thanks for loving my fic. I love that you're lovin' it! **SarQueen4:** I have no idea why, actually—people have enormous egos and massive amounts of pride. S'hard to just ignore it, you know? I myself, heh, am incredibly proud—not in the arrogant "I'm better than everybody" way, but you get what I mean. And mix all that in with heinous problems…well, this is what ya get. **Sarah:** Yeah, I totally got that feeling that there is more than one story in my fic—didn't mean for that to happen. The whole Annabel thing, I confess, was just a way to set up the capability for "Rogue and Gambit" to actually be used in the same sentence with viability—bc they had a pratically nonexistent relationship in Evo-verse. And then I went into their personal issues—which I can't decide whether or not is more fun than the Annabel part! You're comparing me with T2? Thanks! That movie was quite good. **Allie:** Ew, Belladonna's name does mean "beautiful" something, doesn't it? Gross. The name "Belladonna" sounds trashy, gaudy, and pompous all at once. I could just go on...but must be objective in this fic, hence why I didn't bash Jean much. I actually kinda admire the girl—very kind, giving, always willing to help…oops, better quit now. Hahaha, my computer probably did shiver. That was a funny remark of yours—liked it. **Aprilangel413:** I don't know how Rogue could practically kick him out or how Remy could just take it—especially after all they'd already been through that should have reinforced their relationship…but I'm just going to brush that off as their confusion, hurt, and misunderstandings. Seems like no matter how much things would _seem_ simple, they just don't _feel_ that way. Did that sound profound or just a lame attempt to be? Lol. **Roguegal:** I am absolutely tickled that you had to work your way around reading my story! Thanks for putting in the effort—makes me see that my efforts aren't in vain!  What's your job? I am very curious to know, since you mentioned "doing a book to give to your editor". **Kendokao:** I feel like we haven't communicated for a while…hmm. On on on with the angst—haha, that should be my motto. I like Logan's relationship with Rogue, too. There's this underlying trust and understanding, sort of. He's that go-to guy who she can completely trust and depend on when push comes to shove—and we'll just have to see if Remy can be that guy, too! I'm debating it myself whether…oops, almost let something slip there. Ha. And of course things will get better, haven't you seen a trend? ;-) **TheBabyPhatPrincess:** Rogue and Remy sweetness always manages to break the overcast—that's the trend it seems. And hell yeah there's going to be a sequel. I'm plotting it as I write this fic so I don't forget ideas—just working on a title—which is a pain. **Keller:** I don't like the hysterical shouting that most authors make them undergo, it just seems too rash. I mean, in reality, if you really care about someone and are in the beginning stages of a relationship, would you really be screaming at them? I wouldn't have the galls. **Crazed Fuzzle:** Well! I just have to say that I am extremely flattered that my writing could have influenced you so. And they are meant to be, even though it's incredibly annoying how heinous situations always seem to come their way for the sole purpose of splitting them apart—like what I'm doing. I looked back and realized I should have toned it down a bit…but whatever, ppl've enjoyed it. And as for my ending question statements with a period—too bad! ;-P I happen to like doing that. If it bothers you so much, try saying it out loud, once with the up tone of the question mark and once with the more mellow tone incited by the period—sometimes it just sounds better with the mellow tone, more tense and melodramatic so as to serve the purpose of the scene, situation, or dialogue. **Misswildfire:** I wonder myself sometimes. **Jeanie:** Aw, I will take it as a compliment—thanks for reviewing. I'm glad you like this story—it's definitely taken a lot of work. But that's good work.  Aye, God, I _know_ I said I'm a frequent updater, but I'm still a senior in high school with tons of crap to do—go easy on me! And believe it or not, I actually have a one or two guy readers around here! Ha. **Randirogue: **Thank you thank you thank you thank you! I probably should've ended this a while back, bc I feel like now it's a completely different story that's just dealing with Rogue/Gambit drama—forgot about the whole Annabel thing sometimes! But w/e. And heh, the pressure sure is on to update. But I'm on spring break now so there should be more time! Hopefully. **Shockgoddess:** You know, I was starting to think everyone was hypnotized by this fic's "greatness" (not trying to sound vain, really); I'm glad someone actually criticized me, so thanks. I didn't like the last chapter much—it was a little forced, to me, but I had to do it. Rogue was calm bc I seriously can't see her throwing a hissy fit—in my judgment, that's not her character, especially when dealing with sensitive problems concerning Remy—shrug it off as pride and self-oppression, which she is good at. Ah, I thought of this believe it or not, but Rogue didn't find out about the engagement just because. Ha. The memory didn't surface—w/e, it was "buried" and plus her own dominate psyche was too preoccupied with happenings in the real world. And then you can make the inquiry about why Genny's memory surfaced when it did—and I'll just say bc her and Annabel had such similar fates that events sort of "tugged" that to the surface of Rogue's mind. That suffice? Sort of, maybe? Whatever, lol. Speaking of physics, I have to go to some laser/radiology company tomorrow to videotape the manufacturing plant and I have a sandpaper throat right now. Talk about horrible timing! I hope I'll have a voice tmw—imagine me interviewing the production manager talking like a 32-year chain smoker. –sigh— I don't take pre-calc, thank God. I'm annoyed enough with advanced algebra as it is **Kitzu LeBeau:** thanks very very much! I love to hear that people are enjoying this, especially from new readers. And to be honest, I like the way I portray Gambit and Rogue to! ;-P Other ppl make them seem so…agh, don't even wanna get into it.

* * *

_What did you do?_

_It was the right thing!_

_No! Are you insane?_

_Please, please stop doing this!_

_It was smart to end it._

_You're only hurting yourself._

_He didn't deserve that!_

_He's a heartbreaker, will break yours if you let him._

_That wasn't what you meant to say._

_Yes, it was! You're being smart!_

_Stop him—go back and fix this!_

She collapsed in the foyer, the pounding in her head dizzying. Her composure had all but dissolved, and she lost all sense of conviction. Disordered thoughts whirled in her mind, a maelstrom of confusion and discord. Had she really said those things to Remy? She huddled on the floor, pressed her head against a wall that did not give. She wanted to cry, but her own pride squashed even that urge. She couldn't remember what it was she had _meant_ to say to Remy. All she recalled, all she felt was the irrepressible hurt at seeing him prepare to leave. It was just like him—the bastard—the lady's man—the noncommittal player—Just like that. No goodbyes, no explanation. He would ditch her like everything they had done, everything they had said...

"Meant nothing?" Rogue murmured, a hushed, pained whisper. How could he?

The psyches continued to scream. She forgot how to control them, convert them into…what was it again? It had been so easy before… God, she didn't care—What possessed her to be so cold to Remy? He had acted so sincere when he tried to explain, before she brushed him off, practically ordered him to go. She had snapped. All the ups and downs, all the frustration at herself, at him—she had snapped. She wanted it to stop so badly. Tears brimmed at the edge of her eyes. No, she wouldn't cry. She'd done that too much already. The psyches continued to scream

But wait—they weren't real. They never had been. Annabel said so. Annabel had said lots of things—_We should be like sisters, we can relate to each other's pains—You really don't deserve him—So many, Rogue. How do you keep so many?—Don't judge him by his mistakes. Don't throw away what you have because of the past—You're so blessed…_

Memories of a sad, deprived girl swelled in Rogue's mind. Poor Annabel, Annabel who never lived, who made the ultimate sacrifice.

She choked back a sob, wishing the psyches would just leave her alone. Too many voices. Too many thoughts, regrets, emotions. Conflicting emotions. She hated him; she wanted him to leave—she couldn't bear parting with him; she couldn't stand not seeing him, hearing him, feeling him. But he was always hurting her. And she was always handling it badly. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be.

_No, no, no!_ a voice in her head screamed; she thought it was her own, but she could never be certain when it came to voices in her mind.

Somewhere, seemingly far away, a voice called, shouted her name. Rogue? Rogue, what happened?

She didn't know. She didn't know anything.

Are you okay? Rogue, please, say something!

Yes, she was okay. She was never not okay. She didn't need any help from any body—never did, never would. Wasn't that right? Especially now, especially when she was this alone and despicable and confused. She was fine, would be as soon as the psyches shut the hell up, as soon as the head-splitting throbs went away. The pain in her head echoed another hurt she couldn't name, one that started with that Cajun who had left. Why hadn't he gone after her? Didn't he care enough to argue more vehemently against her unwarranted requests?

"What's going on?" Alarmed voices—inside, outside her mind.

"I don't know! I—I just found her like this…I think it's the psyches again! She must've, like, lost control or something—"

Why couldn't they just leave her alone? Why did they have to be so suffocating, always so nosey and prodding and eager? They were just as bad as the people in her mind. Oh, she just wanted to sleep—no, that was a lie, and she would not sink so low as to lie to herself. All she wanted was him—but he had left. She choked back another sob. Planned to go without a word, he did. Not one. It was all she could think about; she forgot his regretful looks, his efforts to reach her while they stood within the twilight… She couldn't think. Not with so many screaming. Shut up. Shut up. Everybody go away.

"Vait, vhat's happened to her? Help her, Logan!"

"Everyone back away—_now!_ Come on, kiddo, easy does it."

Rogue felt herself being lifted off the floor. Images of things and people whirled before her unfocused eyes. Aspirin might help—Vicodin would probably be better, about five bottles of it would do the job, or maybe that was overkill. She wanted to laugh at her ludicrous notions, if the noise wouldn't have hurt so much. Her head felt swollen to three times its normal size; too many frenzied personalities occupying one space.

"We're almost there, darlin'. Don't let 'em beat you."

"Why," she managed to murmur. "He's gone." Then the swirling colors disappeared and she could no longer hear any voices, in or outside her mind.

-

-

-

The motorcycle pulled to a stop before the Acolyte base. Remy killed the ignition and dismounted. As he removed the helmet, he ran a hand through his flattened hair. The evening was darker than he remembered upon first leaving the Institute. How long had he been driving around, aimlessly trying to clear his head? And in vain also… What a waste of time. Her words still echoed in his thoughts, taunting him with veracity and cruelness, disheartening his will to contend them. Maybe later, after everything back home was finally taken care of. Maybe then he could come back and fix things and…

All was silent as he entered the base. The steely corridors echoed every footstep from their desolate barrenness; they no longer shone with metallic luster, dull as they were from neglect. To the naïve visitor, it would seem as though the base was abandoned and out of the use, but Remy knew better. He languidly walked through the familiar halls, thinking of days when he was a paid mercenary, when life consisted only of jobs, money, and kicking back with Piotr and John. Funny how life always managed to get complicated.

He found his old room. As he opened the door and entered, stale air greeted his senses. The bunk was untouched, bed sheets as disheveled as he had left them that morning weeks ago. He surveyed the room with detached curiosity, seeing how sterile his living space was, how unwelcoming and cold. He couldn't fathom sleeping there every night on that hard cot, surrounded by four bleak walls. It seemed utterly inscrutable after all these days of residing within the Xavier Institute; he hadn't been living while employed as an Acolyte. Everything had been work. Empty work.

Remy shook his head. He looked around the room, reacquainting himself with his few possessions and their locations. Most were tools and gadgets, auxiliaries for jobs and heists; and of course, playing cards. He tucked a couple packs into his pockets before scooping the rest of the gear into a black haversack. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he left the room and headed downstairs.

Not surprisingly, the base's true operations were designed and executed within the lower levels. Only communication and radio emission devices were kept at surface altitude. Remy walked past the major control room, where the gargantuan computer screen sat black without power. He boarded the elevator and rode it down to the same level as the underground garage, though to a separate sector of the hidden facility. Before the elevator doors opened, he could hear the drone of bustle on the other side.

The steel panels slid open, revealing to him the engagements of Acolyte activity. Uniformed men moved back and forth along the area, hefting crates and boxes and operating machinery to lift the ones too large for human capability. A tall figure of metallic muscle stood as overseer, a clipboard clutched in one massive organic steel hand as he checked off each crate that passed him by. Several times a man would stop and they would exchange a few words regarding protocol.

As Remy approached, Colossus caught sight of him. A pleasant expression broke through the steel of his face. In just moments the metal coating around his body receded, revealing the flesh-and-blood friend Remy knew as Piotr.

"I thought you would never pull yourself from those X-Men," Piotr said.

Reminded of that, Remy nearly grimaced. He only shrugged in reply.

"When will you be leaving the city?"

"Soon," was all Remy said. He looked around at all the activity. "Refresh m'memory mon ami, what's go'n' on here now?"

Piotr glanced at the figures on his clipboard. He scribbled incoherent symbols as one of the uniformed men cleared a crate of biohazard chemicals by him. "The supplies within the containment dome are obliterated, we have discovered," he said, raising an expectant eyebrow.

"Yeah…forget t'mention dat. But m'sure y'guys looked at de security cameras?"

"You seem to be very good at making new enemies."

"Must be m' aftershave or somet'ing," Remy retorted.

Piotr gave him a look. "Of course," he drawled, then said in a more business-like tone, "We've salvaged the C4 and other explosives in the floor cache. As of now they are being trucked away to a more secure storage facility until they're taken by our investors."

"Investors," Remy echoed.

"Of course. Where do you think these men came from?"

Memories stirred in Remy's mind, tidbits of what Magneto had called his "project". He hadn't been too informed on the matter; because of his particular background of skill and experience, Magneto had made sure that most of his efforts were focused on the X-Men and current human-flatscan happenings. But Remy knew that Magneto's ambitions stretched far beyond pestering Xavier's mutants or stirring up trouble among the baseline human communities. He had had an ultimate goal, one that Remy doubted any of the Acolytes truly understood.

"And we can trust dese G.I. Joes?"

"They come from our investors," Piotr stated plainly, "who have much more to lose than all of us put together if Magneto's…enterprise fails."

Remy raised an eyebrow, "So even t'ough Bucket Head's technically gone, his lil' 'project' s'still goin' on?"

"It is most definitely not little."

"Do y'even know what 't is?"

Piotr's brow furrowed, "Not exactly. Creed is the only one. Magneto put him in charge of everything." He cast a wary glance across the compound, to an area of various vehicles and machinery that Sabertooth presently inspected. "He knows what is really happening underneath all this show," Piotr's accented words announced. "Why Magneto entrusted someone like him with this task, I will never guess."

Remy frowned, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. A feeling of ominous purpose came to him, a sense of something large and epochal that would eclipse all else—and it was happening right before his eyes, right under his nose, all this time. He still had no proper inkling of what it really was, but if it was an endeavor of Magneto's… "Recruits," he suddenly remembered, turning to Piotr. "Mags wanted me t'poke 'round de mutant 'hoods a while back, t'see who's anti-flatscan and pro-revolution. Any o'dem ever 'mount t' anyt'ing?"

Piotr shrugged. "I cannot call them a team for they have no organization or leader as of now," he said. "But they exist nonetheless."

"F'what?"

"Magneto's dream was a world where mutants ruled the regular humans. Guess."

"Y' can't be serious," Remy huffed. "Somet'ing like dat will take more dan jus' a bunch o' pumped desperadoes."

"As the saying goes, 'You have to start somewhere'." After thinking on it more, Piotr seemed to dislike his blasé attitude towards the subject. "It _is_ disturbing… perhaps we should inquire Creed."

"He wouldn' tell us, mon ami," Remy said. "Don' waste y'time." Watching the feral mutant askance, he frowned, sensing not for the first time a strange familiarity in Sabertooth. There had been instances before when the hairy fellow had struck Remy with eerie dejávu, but they passed too quickly for adequate inspection. He had met many big, mean brutes in his life—how Creed was any different, he was not sure.

"Crikey! Ye back!" St. John attacked from behind, clapping Remy hard on the back. "And here I thought those X-geeks turned ye all goody-goody."

Remy offered a wry grin, "Once a t'ief, always a t'ief, hein?" The words recalled a memory, another place where he had said them. Cold marble tombstone, cloud-shrouded sky, beautiful green eyes… He shook his head, "Desolé, mes amis, but I jus' came by f'a quick adieu."

John's face scrunched up in disappointment, his orange eyebrows furrowing. "Aw, ye've got to be kiddin', mate. Ye really leavin' ole Tin Can and me alone with that sucker?" He thumbed in the direction of Sabertooth growling at one of the suited men. "Where ye plannin' on goin'?"

"Back t'de Big Easy," Remy replied without zeal. "Family business t'take care of."

Piotr nodded understandably. He grasped Remy's hand in a firm shake, "Good luck, my friend. Perhaps we shall meet again."

"Count on it," Remy assured him. "And Pyro, try not t'set y'self on fire while m'gone."

John smirked, grasping Remy by the forearm for a rattling armshake, "Can't help it sometimes, mate. Take care yeself, and get back here asap!"

Remy merely nodded, waving as he headed back for the elevator. On the way up he pondered over Magneto's schemes; even while dead the man still managed to influence so many lives. As he reached the base's main level, a thought occurred to him, some completely spontaneous call of obligation. Instead of heading directly outside to his motorcycle, he reared around and entered the communications control room.

He switched on the main computer, watched the enormous screen light up. He maneuvered a bit around Magneto's files, found the needed telephone number, and left. Two minutes later, he was a trail of dust and a flapping trench coat in the distance.

-

-

-

_Oh, God, Ah did it again. How embarrassing._

Rogue groaned as she sat up in bed. Not her bed, a Med Bay bed, the usual one. She expelled a tired sigh, rubbed her sore head. This was becoming incredibly hackneyed. If she only had a dollar for every time she'd woken up in the Med Bay…

"Ah, you're awake. How are we feeling?"

Rogue winced at Mr. McCoy's cheerful voice, it so contrasted her mood. "You are feeling fine," she croaked, voice thick with sleep. "Ah, on the other hand, not so hot."

Hank approached with his stethoscope and a tiny medical flashlight. He flickered the beam in her eyes momentarily, then checked her breathing. "Does your head hurt?" he asked, observing the brain and heart monitor readings.

"Sorta," Rogue replied. "But Ah feel like ya doped me with somethin'."

Hank smiled pleasantly as he scratched a diagnosis onto a chart. "Mild sedatives to help you sleep," he said. "Will you be needing anything for a headache, perhaps? You seem discomforted." He slipped the chart into the folder containing her medical files.

"Ah'll be fine." Rogue cleared her throat, ran a hand through her hair. She sat up higher in bed and asked, "Could Ah have something ta drink?"

"It would seem my timing is perfect." With a soft whirr of a powered wheelchair, the Professor hovered into the room. He carried a light tray littered with easy-on-the-stomach foods: low-acid orange juice, frozen yogurt, and granola. He set the tray on the bedside table. Rogue gestured for the juice. He handed it to her.

"Thanks." After she took a sip her throat felt better and her mouth less bile-tasting. She glanced at Hank, "How am Ah looking?"

"Back to normal it seems," the doctor replied. "You exhibited very high, very taxing levels of stress earlier. And you seemed to have lost control of your powers during that time as well."

Rogue instinctively grimaced. She hesitated to ask, "How could ya tell?"

Hank seemed hesitant to say. He coughed lightly into a furry fist and shrugged. "It is nothing serious," he said, "but Storm bumped into you while you were being brought into the Med Bay. She is fully awake with barely a headache as a result." He paused, watching Rogue for a reaction.

The Professor pressed his hands together in studious observation.

"No wonder Ah feel so calm," the girl mused. She scratched the back of her neck and sighed. "Ah can feel her inside, tellin' me it's gonna be okay, that Ah'm all right." A wan smile curved her lips, "It's actually kinda nice. Like a mother's voice almost…"

Hank and the Professor exchanged glances. "Can you explain this further, Rogue?" Xavier asked.

"Um…not...Ah guess it's just like how Ah can convert the psyches' energy into powers Ah can use. Just sometimes, if Ah want, they can stay psyches." Rogue wrinkled her nose. "Ah'm not explaining this very well…"

"No, please, go on."

"Well, Ah think—actually, Ah _feel_ these little parts of people Ah absorb, they're not the real person, but it's still part of them and it still acts like them and thinks like them and has their personalities and stuff but are still just…different, part of me… They all have their own voice."

"You interact with voices in your head?" Hank asked

Rogue raised an eyebrow, "Well if ya put it like that, you might as well slap 'crazy' on my forehead."

A light-hearted smile played across Hank's furry face. "Apologies…I am simply…unfamiliar with this sort of thing. Still, it is a very interesting part of psychology, a science that I am very keen on learning more about. Your psychology, Rogue, seems the most unique of any mutant—any person—I've encountered."

The Professor seemed less interested in cordial musings. "Do the psyches still burden your mind, Rogue, as they did before?" he asked.

She sensed a sort of grave concern in his tone, though she didn't understand why it was there. She chose her words carefully, "If Ah keep them in check, no. But if Ah don't do somethin' ta exhaust their stored energy…it gets uncomfortable, like having an overload of caffeine and getting all jittery, just a lil' more intense…Ah don't know…either way, Ah don't really feel normal when the 'energy' isn't spent. This is so weird…Ah'm staring to think my absorbing powers aren't even connected to the psyche powers…if that makes any sense…"

"Meaning that though you may be able to control whether or not you absorb, that might not be in conjunction with control over the multi-psyche activity in your mind?"

Rogue involuntarily shivered. She wondered if they noticed. "Yeah, but that sounds worse than not controlling absorption, don't you think?"

"An unstable mind is very dangerous," the Professor agreed. "But you have unusually strong mental powers for a nontelepath, Rogue. I do not believe nature would have bequeathed you such a burden without the capability to handle it. So far you have been doing a superb job."

"Problem is, Professor, if all those psyches freak out like they did, when Ah lose it like that, Ah'm so messed up inside that Ah can't control touch either. Look what's happened."

Hank and the Professor exchanged glances that Rogue could not decode. Then Xavier said, "Remember that the outbreak only happened when you were in severe emotional distress. It seems as long as you are somewhat composed, you are the one in charge."

Rogue shrugged, not much comforted.

"You were sedated four hours ago," the Professor told her. "What do you remember?"

They were carefully watching her. Rogue squirmed in her skin. She took a dainty sip of juice, focusing her eyes on the bottom of the vermillion-doused glass. "It won't happen again," she assured them, not believing it herself. "Ah don't know how Ah lost it back there…but it won't happen again."

Hank frowned. The Professor released a weary sigh, "That is something I am worried about, Rogue: there is no way to assure absolute, complete control of yourself. Everyone loses composure form time to time, and it is a natural, stress-expelling thing. Do not suppress your emotions to the point of where it becomes a poison inside you."

She squelched the contemptuous huff threatening to surface. Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of incensement within the green. "Maybe you already forgot, Professor, but when _Ah_ lose control, it isn't just a peeved chick throwing a hissy fit."

Hank cleared his throat. He grew uncomfortable in the thickening tension, by the rather offended, and seemingly to him, unwarrantedly unpleasant glare, Rogue directed toward Xavier. The phone rang in his office. He cleared his throat again, said, "Excuse me," and departed.

The Professor continued to watch Rogue in contemplative silence. He did not appear angry or distressed; when he spoke his voice was of utmost benevolence and calm. "As much as it may be hard to believe, I do understand, Rogue. I only wish that some day you might trust me enough to confide."

She looked down at her juice.

"I did not mean to offend you," the Professor continued, "but I do mean what I said. Do not keep everything inside. It boils and blisters until consuming everything. You have friends here—a family—that cares very much for you, no matter how hard you might try and push us away. I only wish for you to know that."

Rogue brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. "Ah know. It's just…not easy...especially when Ah'm so confused…about a lot of things…"

"Remy?"

Rogue mutely nodded.

The Professor opened his mouth to speak, but Hank knocked curtly at the door.

"A phone call, Charles."

"Can it wait?"

"He's adamant about speaking with you."

"Who?"

Hank did not say, though when he shrugged, his eyes flickered every so minutely.

It was enough for Rogue to notice. She bit the inside of her cheek.

The Professor gave her a parting glance and disappeared into Hank's office.

Rogue glanced at her food tray, set her juice down. "Mr. McCoy?" she said.

"Yes, Rogue?"

"Can ya do me a huge favor?"

"What does the patient require?"

"This food…it's not enough to feed a bird. Could Ah get a sandwich or something…"

Hank smiled pleasantly and gathered up the tray the Professor had brought. "What would you like?"

"Something simple—cheddar, turkey, lettuce, tomato…ya know the basics. Thanks." She watched him leave, and before he was even fully exited of the Med Bay, she crawled out of her cot and crept unsteadily to his office door. She crouched against the wall for balance.

The conversation had barely just begun. "…depart without word? I cannot say that was the best of actions. I know you realize this, for there are others affected by your presence, or in this case, lack thereof."

Rogue sifted through her psyche energy cache. Most were exhausted and spent from the spasm earlier but some still retained a few of their powers. She couldn't recognize whose she used in her moment's bafflement. In a few seconds, she could hear the conversation on both ends of the phone line.

"…have m'reasons, Professor. I was practically ordered t'go."

"I find that hard to believe…"

"Doesn' matter. S'past anyway…. I didn' call t'discuss dis o' f' y' t'convince me t'come back. M'goin' t'N'Awlins, leavin' t'night, but I've got some Acolyte intel that I t'ought y'might want t'know."

The Professor asked, "Of what sort?"

There was a contemplative pause, and Rogue could nearly see Remy's brow furrowing in thought, his eyes darkening in their amber-blood hue.

"M'not sure people believe Magneto's really dead, but guess dat makes little difference when so much investment's on de line."

"I'm not sure what you are speaking of…"

"Magneto always talked 'bout startin' an army t'take over de world. Sounded like de ambitions o' some fanatic, jus' as crazy, jus' as impossible—but s'happened. He started small, got a few human-hating renegades t'gether. M'not puttin' past his investors t'keep de project going—"

"Project," the Professor interjected. "Yes, Sabertooth mentioned such a thing when he came to collect Colossus and Pyro. Please elaborate. What do you know of it?"

"Not a whole lot. Magneto kept me busy wit' de local, current stuff. Sabertooth was in charge o' his long-range plans, scary as dat sounds. I don' have lots o'details, but here's what I know." Remy began explaining all the hints and tidbits he had picked up during his employment by Magneto, secrets of a massive plan continually enacted under, around, and during the unveiling of the mutant legacy. He delved into more detail when disclosing what he had found out that very day, only an hour or so ago. "Dese 'investors' seem real hardcore," he concluded. "No idea who dey are o' where dey're comin' from, but dey ain't playin'."

Several moments passed of silence. Remy then asked, "Y'still dere?"

"Yes," the Professor replied, "yes… Thank you, Remy, for the consideration. It will undoubtedly serve us well to be aware of these happenings. I expect we will be investigating this in due time."

"Sounds wise t'me," came the reply, attempting flippancy, but failing. There wasn't much to invoke a lighter mood. "Mais, dat's all I've got, Prof. Better be gettin' on—"

"Where are you, Remy?" the Professor bluntly asked.

Pause. A sigh. "Gas station in Greenwich."

The Professor reacted mildly surprised, "Manhattan? You waste no time, Mr. LeBeau."

"Not when people're impatient."

"And you intend to leave just like this then?"

"What else are y'expecting?" His sounded cynical and a little irritated.

Rogue shut her eyes, bit her lip. She tried not to see him, to remember his touch and voice, the arduous gaze of his eyes. Still, despite her wants, she couldn't ignore that tiny feeling in the pit of her stomach, that awful sense of self-respect and sensibility, that told her some time apart might be good for both of them. If only she wouldn't miss him so much…

With the lack of reply, he seemed to deduce what the Professor hesitated to say. "Did somet'ing happen t'her?" The alarm in his voice, the tension of concern…

"Nothing serious, but something nonetheless," the Professor said. "Do not stress yourself; it was a mild episode, much like the ones she has experienced in the past. But I have no doubt it was provoked by you, Remy."

"So y'putting de blame on me."

"Not at all. I only wish to reconcile the situation somehow. The only way that seems possible is for you two to meet, to talk through—"

"No offense, Prof, but couples counseling jus' don' suit you."

The Professor expelled a curt, humorless chuckle, "Perhaps not…but I must try. I hate to see Rogue so…" He sighed. "She was different these past few days for reasons not entirely known to me. But I can guess. And I can say that she was…better. I'd hate to lose that part of her that we have rarely ever seen."

Rogue frowned. Was that what he thought? How all the others saw her? She was never bothered before that they might have been annoyed with her reclusive attitudes, but now… She wanted to think she could continue acting the way she had, so gregarious, so cordially, so like a normal, untroubled girl…but even without her poisonous skin, the reason for it was gone, and to return to her natural state was only rational, only normal, and above all else, easier. Her heightened sense of hearing picked up Remy's hoarse words.

"M'sorry…s'jus'—dere's nothin' I can do."

"Perhaps you should speak with her. She's in the next room—"

"Non—we past dat, mon ami. Can't be worryin' 'bout it right now."

"You dread more pressing matters," the Professor deduced, "but are they really more important? Even at this distance, even over a telephone landline, I sense your hesitation."

Remy expelled a noise of exasperation. "Don' make dis any harder dan t'already is. I know y'understand what's happenin'…at least a lil' bit of it, so dis's pointless. M'gon' do what I have to."

The Professor at last complied, "Yes, I know. I just needed to put in another word before submitting to your wishes. For her sake as well as yours, for I really do think this is a mistake—on both your parts, whatever has transpired that I am not aware of."

"She know y'act like un prere? M'guessin' y'don' even realize how fatherly y'are, hein?"

"I am only voicing my concerns."

"Mais, m'jus' glad someone like you's lookin' out f'everybody but….S'time, Professor. T'anks…for everyt'ing."

"I hope this is not the last I hear of you, Remy."

"Hard t'say."

"Thank you for the information, nonetheless," said the Professor. "And Remy, realize that if you need any help at all…"

"T'anks."

"There's always a place for you here."

"Won' forget it, Professor. Au revoir."

The Professor set the phone back in its cradle. He swiveled in his chair and wheeled out of the room. He stopped halfway out the door, noticing Rogue crouched against the wall.

"He's not coming back, is he," she asked calmly.

The old man's features softened. "Nothing is definite," he said. "Give him time."

Rogue huffed softly, stood to her feet, hugged herself. "Ah told him ta leave."

A moment's pause from the Professor confirmed Rogue's belief of how heinously she had behaved. She barely heard his gentle inquiry, "Why?"

"Seemed like a good idea at the time," she quipped, and laughed mirthlessly. A chuckle caught in her throat, expelled as a sob. She immediately clamped a hand over her mouth and shut her eyes. In a few moments she was composed again. "My fault," she muttered. "Ah'll deal with this. It's my fault."

The Professor frowned, obviously perturbed. "I refuse to lecture you further on this hackneyed subject," he said sternly. "You are intelligent enough to know what I would say."

Rogue looked at him, smirked despite herself. "That it doesn't do any good to blame myself," she guessed. "Maybe not, but sure as heck puts some sense to what Ah'm feelin'." She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Ah'm sorry, Professor. Ah'm not trying to be so pathetic. Honest."

"Rogue…" He wheeled forward and took her hand, giving it a fatherly pat. "For a long time you believed you would never be able to touch another human being. Look at yourself now." He paused, studying the way she looked at her skin in contact with his. "I know it sounds empty to say, but anything can happen. And despite how you can not control what happens to you, you can control how to handle it. The issue is whether or not you will." He gave her hand a final squeeze and turned to leave.

Rogue watched him depart, blinking back tears of gratitude. She had heard such words before; they were nothing new. But when the Professor said them, they had haunting impact.

She crawled back into bed just as Hank returned with her dinner.

-

-

-

"Do I have to?"

"'Night, Bobby."

"Somehow it feels like you're giving me the brush-off."

"It's almost midnight. Aren't you tired? I know I am."

"I'm only tired when I'm bored. So you must think I'm boring."

Lorna yawned wearily.

Bobby gawked in mock offense, "Now that's just adding insult to injury."

"You idiot," she chuckled, and hit him with a pillow. "Can't even be considerate to a tired, sick patient?"

"You don't look sick."

Lorna grinned, "Was that a compliment, Popsicle?"

"Not you, too. That nickname has got to be the lamest thing anybody's ever come up with. Who started it anyway…"

She was slightly amused by how he artfully dodged her question. "Agh," she rolled her eyes, "who cares. Just get out! I wanna sleep."

Bobby stood up from his perch at her bedside. "Fine! I can take a hint." He straightened up the mess they had made with a Scrabble board and various snack foods. "So, same time tomorrow then?"

Lorna laughed, waving her hand to shoo him away.

"Is that a yes or no?" Bobby asked, inching towards the door.

"Well, I guess having you around is better than talking to myself," Lorna contemplated.

Bobby huffed.

"I'll be expecting ya," Lorna said, and pulled the Med Bay sheets over her head. As the lights went out, she listened to his footsteps walking away, and a warm smile curved her lips. She had something to look forward to in the morning.

The mansion was almost completely silent. Bobby padded quietly through the corridors, the stillness around contradicting the bubbly excitement he felt within. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so much anticipation—no, wait, he could. It was the first time Logan had let him fly the Blackbird. Yet, this was a different sort of feeling. He didn't really know what it was, but he liked it anyway. Probably liked it more than flying the Blackbird.

He was thinking about Lorna's spunky green hair when he entered the kitchen. As he disposed of the excess food items, a motion in the shadows outside caught his attention. Instantly he tensed, powers immediately revving up to freeze any foe immobile. It was a slender figure, walking slowly across the patio. He relaxed upon realizing who it was. Abandoning his cargo on the kitchen counter, Bobby pulled open the patio door. He jogged outside and caught up with the creeping figure. "What are you doing?"

Rogue's shoulders seemed to deflate as her movements lulled to a stop. She turned around slowly, an expression of tired displeasure on her face. "Going for a walk," she said.

Bobby was taken aback by the blunt answer, especially since it was such an obvious lie. He frowned, "How'd you sneak out? I thought you were sick." He noticed she hadn't even bothered to change out of the Med Bay scrubs, wearing only an X-Men jacket over her frail form.

His teammate's eyes drooped to the ground. Her reply came so softly, in a manner so weary that Bobby thought she might faint from fatigue: "Guess Ah'm always sick then…because these people in my head never go away."

"But, uh, I thought you didn't have to deal with voices anymore…or something," Bobby said lamely. He never had been clear on the nature of Rogue's powers, didn't think he ever would be.

Rogue sighed, "Yeah, most of the time, when Ah have 'em under control. Ah thought controlling absorption was my biggest problem…" She laughed dryly, "Definitely not."

Bobby was confused, and irritated because he always seemed to be confused whenever dealing with Rogue. She was probably the most complicated, stratified personality he knew. Nearly all the other X-girls were like open books—he could predict what would aggravate or pacify them. But with Rogue there was no such thing as certainty, at least as far as he could tell.

"Listen, I don't really, uh, get what's going on," he said, "but Mr. McCoy told everybody that you should be in the Med Bay…so c'mon, let's go inside."

Rogue looked at him, a twinkle of scornful amusement in her deep eyes. It almost frightened Bobby how much seemed to be behind her look, as if she were years beyond her physical age. She crossed her arms, "No."

"You know what?" Bobby huffed. "I'm starting to think all this is some cry for attention. You're like the biggest drama queen this side of town." He didn't really believe that, but he could at least try to incite her to explain things.

She didn't take the bait, "Whatever Bobby…"

"I'm so right. You just wanna be caught. Why else bother sneaking around like this, huh? I know you have all those powers. Why not poof outta like Kurt would or run away like that Quicksilver guy?"

Rogue rolled her eyes, "How 'bout 'cause my psyches are spent from spasing out earlier? Know what it's like to have a mental seizure, Drake?"

Bobby released an irritated growl, scratched his head. "Fine, I give up. At least tell me what you're planning on doing." When he received no reply he guessed, "You're going to look for him, aren't you?"

Rogue sniffed. She tilted her head back and breathed deeply. As she exhaled, "Pathetic, aren't Ah?"

Bobby slowly shook his head, "I don't think so."

"Ah never thought you'd ever take anything seriously, Bobby," Rogue said softly. "Hope you two work out." With that she turned to leave. She had nearly disappeared into the shadows when she heard him call.

"Is it worth it, Rogue?"

She stopped, bit her lip. "Yeah," she said without turning around, "it is." In the next moment she disappeared from view.

-

-

-

Wisps of steam wafted in the air. Droplets of scalding water cut through its cloudiness in the space between shower wall and curtain, battering upon the head and shoulders of Remy LeBeau. He turned the water temperature a little higher, exhaled sensually as the heat seeped through his skin and into his muscles. One hand lay on the wall in front of him, the other lethargically massaging through his hair. The tense weariness he felt slowly washed away with the water drizzling down the length of his body. If only his mind could feel such solace.

After reaching his New York City apartment he had set about packing a few minor necessities for the road trip to New Orleans. The task didn't take long, left him too much time of inactivity. He had hours to kill. The plan had been to leave for Louisiana after twelve that night and hopefully arrive at an ungodly hour; that would allow him resting time before having to deal with the drama that would inevitably follow his return. Since moping around the apartment was an insult to pride, he had gone out and strolled the vicinity of Manhattan's West Village. He stopped at cafés and little street shops, obliquely wandering in a sort of daze. No matter where he went, what he saw, who he spoke to, she was always dominating his thoughts. But something else bothered him, something that he had momentarily forgotten in all the current drama.

He went to a nearby coffee shop and began brainstorming: Somebody had planned to kidnap the X-Men, someone who especially wanted Rogue. And somehow it was connected to Farrat, to Annabel, to Patricia and Armand Velkonnen. What did those three women have in common? Their mutant abilities—the power to absorb and retain. Remy could think of many mutant-hating personas and supervillians, but none that had such connections or would put forth such endeavors to seize the X-Men and Rogue. For Rogue was the real prize, and the perpetrator was still at large—which meant she was possibly still in danger. Remy doubted this new enemy would give up after one failed attempt.

After wracking his brain and mutilating a napkin with useless notes, Remy returned to his apartment, fruitless and discouraged, for a shower.

He shut off the water and stood still, allowing the remaining droplets to trickle off his sculpted form. He massaged the back of his neck, fingers traveling down to the shoulder and smoothing out the tension.

He preferred to think about the exterior problems at hand—a mutant predator, the Assassins Guild, Belladonna—over brooding about the layers of complexity that made up his relationship with Rogue. He didn't really understand what he was feeling. It was many things: regret, anger, confusion, annoyance, doubt—he couldn't sort it all out. But one thing was for sure—he missed her. Already.

"Sapristi, LeBeau, y'really are a sad bastard," he muttered, and stepped out of the shower.

The air in the rest of his apartment was cool and crisp. With one towel wrapped around his waist and another pinching water from his hair, he glanced through his closet for some clothes. A sudden weariness overtook him. Maybe he wouldn't leave tonight. Long hours of sleep sounded very appealing at the moment.

He tossed aside the towels. He crawled under the navy satin bed sheets, lay still upon the layers of cloud-like mattress. Maybe it was because he was so tired that the bed felt so comforting; still, he knew it wasn't so much physical weariness as psychological. The toll on his mind in the past days was overwhelming, left him craving the sweet peace of oblivion. But she still lingered; she would never leave, not that he truly wanted her to. He felt her twist him up inside, wring him ruthlessly in a way he never thought a femme could, and to him of all people. But, dieu, there was a reason for it: he would never find another girl like Rogue. Ever. He knew this, resented it and was awed by it. No one would ever be as calloused and soft, as stubborn and complacent, as vigorous and solemn, as witty and subdued, as smart and silly. She was the epitome of boggling paradoxes, maddening and enticing, original and unforgettable. She eclipsed all other wants, the sole focus of his consciousness. He started dreaming about her. Almost a bittersweet reality.

He dreamt that she was there with him now, kneeling at his bedside, her soft, pale fingers stroking his brow. His vision was fuzzy and obscure, like dream sight usually was, but he knew it was her—or at least his own mind-concocted image of her. How else did she look so stunning, how else were her eyes so dazzling and looking at him so lovingly? The real Rogue didn't look at him like that, especially not when she had ordered him to leave.

He felt her lips caress his forehead, move down to tease his cheeks, then affectionately nudge against his mouth. All the while he lay still, afraid that if he moved or said anything, he would wake and she would disappear. He felt her eyelashes flutter against his face as she oppressed rogue tears. Her cheek was resting against his, her breath breezing past his neck, slightly tickling the sensitive skin. She didn't move for the longest time. He wanted to hold her, even if she wasn't real. At least he could enjoy this before he had to wake up and face the less-consoling real world.

It was when he touched her that he suddenly realized he was not dreaming. He had never even fallen asleep. Instantly fully awake and aware, he jerked back involuntarily from the surprise.

Rogue backed away slightly but remained on the floor, perched upon her knees. She ran a hand through her hair and reluctantly looked at him, uncertain. "Hi," she said, not smiling. "Sorry…Ah didn't mean to…" Her words faded and she looked down.

Remy pushed himself up, pulling the satin sheets forward to bunch around his waist. He swung his legs off the bed until he was properly sitting. He rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't seeing things, then in a subdued voice asked, "How'd y'find me?"

"Tracked ya down," she replied. "Took some effort, but Ah managed it." She seemed to think it was awkward to be kneeling and slowly stood, moving to sit a respectful distance from him on the bed. She kept her hands on her knees, her face forward.

Remy suddenly realized she was wearing Med Bay patient attire. Concern swelled within him. "You okay?"

She glanced down at herself. "Wasn't serious," she said and shifted in her seat. Her fingers trembled slightly; she clasped them together and took a subtle breath. She couldn't get the image of him out of her head, the sight of him secretly wheeling the motorcycle onto the driveway, preparing to just leave her… She could have been overreacting—but she doubted it. It would save her much grief to just ask right this moment and get it over with, but she couldn't summon the will.

Her brooding must have lasted longer than she perceived, for Remy said, "M'sorry."

She turned, obliquely looking at him. Somehow his words made her brave enough to say what was on her mind, in her heart. "So am Ah…but Ah do mean what Ah said before—before ya left. About us always doing this to each other. Aren't you sick of it, too?"

"We…complicate t'ings," he reluctantly agreed.

"Well, how do we un-complicate things?"

Remy solemnly shook his head, "Don' know, chere. Maybe we can't." He gazed at the floor with a tired countenance, "Guess we jus' have t'ask ourselves one t'ing."

Rogue lifted her eyes, looking at him without deflection. Her voice was a husky whisper: "What?"

"When y'really care," he said softly, reaching out, stroking back a tress of silvery hair from her eyes, "when is enough…enough?"

She focused on his eyes, the red orbs that smoldered in the darkness, that radiated warmth and comforting promises. She replied without hesitation, "Never."

He seemed surprised by the answer; his hand dropped softly to the bed. His gaze never faltered.

"Ah didn't mean what Ah said…about telling you to leave," Rogue said. "Ah was sitting on the roof for a long time, thinking…and Ah realized Ah was overreacting. Ah should've let you explain instead of just…making assumptions." She swallowed her pride and continued admitting her wrongs, "Belladonna never should've been a problem. We've been over all that before."

"Chere, m'de one dat—"

"It's my fault for freaking out without hearing your side of it," she cut him off. "And we would've been done with this conversation hours ago if Ah'd found you before…uh, before Ah saw you leaving…" She paused, frowned doubtfully, "And that's when Ah forgot everything Ah'd decided…so yeah."

Remy was silent for a long time, making her nervous with each passing second. He ran a hand through his damp hair and shook his head. "How many second chances y'go'n' give me, chere?" His whisper floated through the shadows, heavy and downcast.

Rogue inched forward on the bed until she was right beside him. She leaned closer, stroked his arm, the side of his face, and drifted towards his ear, "As many as you want." It sounded pathetic; it sounded weak and dependent—but she didn't care anymore.

He pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her deceivingly meek form until her warmth seeped into him. He buried his face in her neck, breathing her flowery scent. How could she just…what had he done to deserve…he couldn't think, only feel. Feel the need and the want and the awe of being so unconditionally accepted...

"I wasn' thinkin'," he blurted, "maybe even panicked a lil', sad as dat sounds…Really was gon' come back. Jus' needed some time…"

She pulled back to look at him, her arms resting on his shoulders. "Tell me."

Remy sighed and pulled her close again, not sure where to begin. "Belle an' I, we grew up t'gether. She was de only fille in our gang, de only one who could keep up wit' everyt'ing we did."

"Special, was she," Rogue said, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. She was sure she failed. "Did you two…?"

Remy couldn't help smirking. He nudged his lips along her throat, spoke against her skin, "For a while, off an' on—never anyt'ing serious. I knew de Guilds were plannin' on us marryin' some day. Guess I didn' mind de idea since I liked her 'nough…" He shook his head. "Ain't de case now…but Belle feels different."

"She loves you, doesn't she."

Remy kissed Rogue's ear, said, "Doesn' matter."

"Yes it does," she sighed, shaking her head. "It matters a lot. If she's bent on it, and if the Thieves have a hold on you, they can make it happen. They can—"

"Non," Remy firmly interrupted. He looked at her hard, wanted to make her believe that, "Dey can't make me do anyt'ing. Not anymore."

Rogue pressed her lips together, a doubtful shadow over her face. "And how are you so sure you can stop them?"

"'Cause now I have de right motivation, an' s'time I t'ought 'bout what I want," Remy said resolutely. "I'll take care o'dis, chere. Promise."

Rogue smiled minutely. She stroked the side of his face, eased it towards hers. "Don't disappoint me," she whispered.

He wouldn't, couldn't even imagine committing such a crime. The next moment he was lost in the touch of her kiss. He didn't realize how much he had craved it until then, and maybe because he had been so deprived, been so doubtful of ever experiencing it again, that it felt so amazing. It wasn't just a kiss anymore—it was Rogue, the taste of her, the feel of her, the knowledge that this remarkable girl was his. He allowed her every pleasure, barely moving as she kissed him over and over again, as her hands traveled down his neck, across his collar bone, over the warm flesh of his chest. When she pulled away, his senses protested painfully against the lack of her attention.

He opened his eyes, saw that she had slipped off her jacket. As she pulled her shirt over her head, he questioned the sanity of his mind. Was this really happening? It didn't seem plausible, was too much from the realm of fantasy to be true. Dazed from disbelief and elation, he took her hand as she leaned forward once again, covered only in simple black lingerie. He ran his fingers up her arm, trickled them down the small of her back. Desire swelled up within him, an intoxicating haze of blinding want. He restrained himself from uncouthly attacking her, tenderly caressing the lithe curves of her flawless physique, humbly awarding his mouth the taste of her lips, her skin… Yearning like he had never known before flared frenziedly, from the pit of his butterflying stomach, effervescing to his chest in rounds of bubbling ecstasy.

She kissed him feverishly, clutched at his toned arms, his hard torso, seeking a closeness she seemed bent on acquiring.

Despite how much he wanted to give it to her, wanted to feel it himself, there remained an iota of doubt towards the timeliness of it. "Chere," he said breathlessly, "maybe we—"

"Sssh…" She kissed away his doubts. "Just give me one night, Remy," she whispered, breath choppy, "one night." She nudged him back, rolling over gracefully until she was under him on the bed. Entwining herself within the satin sheets, she called him down with the stroke of her legs, the ribbon-like movements of her arms, along his lean body.

Remy gave in. He was tired of fighting. He fell deeper and deeper into the chasm of this girl who had redeemed him, who had given him the very things he thought were impossible to have. Her kisses, her touch, the feel of her body throbbing and burning against his…were everything he needed to believe in true heaven, in the blissful solace he felt as they melted into each other.

* * *

Ahhhh…finally, right?

Still not over yet, by the way, but it's getting there.


	39. Adieu

Twin pieces of golden-brown bread popped out of the toaster exactly ninety seconds after being installed. Kitty sniffed the redolent aroma of baked whole grain; she always loved the scent of bread—there was always something homey about it. Plucking the slices deftly out of the toaster, she set them on a plate, buttered one, and spread jam on the other. As she was pouring a glass of milk, Bobby walked into the kitchen.

"You're up early," he remarked and commenced brewing some coffee.

Kitty returned, "So are you."

"Patient duty: making Lorna some breakfast."

"She's awake at, like, nine on a Sunday?"

Bobby shrugged and began searching the cupboards for cream and sugar.

"Since when did Bobby Drake become a personal caterer?" Kitty teased as she headed towards the door.

He cleared his throat, "Since someone needed and _wanted_ me to. Don't think I forgot about Rogue—got her taken care of, too."

Kitty waved her hand to gesture that he shouldn't bother, but she had turned the corner by then. Balancing toast and milk on a tray, she walked through the swishing doors of the dimmed Med Bay. All was quiet. A little unnerved, for she had never liked silent hospital settings, Kitty moved past the lobby to the patient sector. Rogue was situated only a few doors from Hank's office; Lorna's room was nearer the lobby. As Kitty walked past, a noise caught her attention: indistinct mumbling coming from Lorna's quarter.

Frowning curiously, Kitty drew nearer and listened closely.

"No…no…this is stupid—what did you say? Oh my God, this is insane. I'm not hearing this. I'm not—shut up. How can you be here? Who—what are you…no, they'll think I'm crazy…. These people are nice—sssh! I'm not listening. I'm not listening. No! I won't you stupid bitch—get out of my head…. Maybe I am crazy—no, be quiet…. I won't—stop. I've lost it…what do you mean you'll make me? You can't—what? Stop it! I won't let you…hello? Is someone there?"

Kitty shook away the icy feeling of alarm and pretended to come to an abrupt stop while walking. She forced a cheery voice, "Hey! I'm sorry, Lorna, did I, like, wake you up?" She approached the doorway, saw the green-haired addition to the Institute.

"Oh, that's fine," Lorna said, smiling pleasantly. "I was already up." Her eyes, the same shade of green as her hair, searched Kitty's face for any sign of suspicion.

Kitty noticed the action but was not about to let Lorna know that she noticed, or that she had overheard anything. An expression of sheepishness masked her anxiety as she gestured towards the tray in her hands, "This is for Rogue, but don't worry, Bobby'll be down any second with your breakfast."

Lorna blinked, then chuckled casually, "Oh. Guess I'll just sit and wait then."

Kitty nodded, taking the opportunity to retreat. As she headed towards Rogue's room, she bit her lip in consternation. There had been something incredibly freaky about Lorna talking to herself, especially in a voice so hushed and serious, as if she really thought there was a voice in her head. But maybe there was. The idea stopped Kitty short. Was Lorna somehow like Rogue? How was that even possible if her powers were like Magneto's? Kitty began chewing on the inside of her cheek. She needed to talk to Rogue about this.

She approached the room and knocked, received no answer. "Rogue?" She quietly entered and froze. The bed was empty. Several scenarios flashed through her mind: Rogue was kidnapped; Rogue was wandering around the mansion; Rogue was in the bathroom, but Kitty knew the truth. It was just like Rogue to leave without telling anyone, even when she was weak.

Hurt nagged at Kitty's stomach, followed by irritation. Did that girl not trust her enough to at least _confide_? Kitty wouldn't have stopped her if she knew it was important for her to do whatever or go wherever. She had a feeling it had to do with Gambit, who everyone had discovered was no where to be found. If Rogue went out in that condition and got herself hurt…

Kitty abandoned the food tray on a table and darted out of the room. She completely forgot about Lorna's weird episode and demanded, "Have you seen Rogue?"

"Huh? You mean the one with the white-stripe in her—"

"Yeah, do you know where she went?"

Lorna shook her head, "Sorry, I was asleep—"

Kitty ran out of the Med Bay, worry rising in her chest. Her friend could be anywhere—who knew when she left? What if she was hurt that very second, lying in a ditch somewhere after having been—

"Something wrong, Kit?" Bobby asked.

She had run into the kitchen. "It's Rogue," she hissed, "she's gone. She's snuck out, that psycho. We have to tell the Professor and Logan and try and find her before—" She couldn't even gasp as Bobby clamped a hand over her mouth. When she couldn't wrench away from his grip, she phased through him instead and glared, "Like, what the heck—"

"I know where she went," he told her.

Kitty gaped at him, flabbergasted, "_Huh?_ How?"

Bobby sighed, "Don't, like, freak out or anything, all right?"

"Just tell me," Kitty demanded. After listening to his retelling she shook her head in disbelief, "And you just _let her?_"

"Well, what was I supposed to do?" Bobby huffed defensively. "Even if I thought she couldn't beat me up, I wouldn't freeze her here when I knew she really needed to go after the guy."

Kitty groaned into her hands, shook her head. "Okay…I can, like, kinda understand that. But _still_, do we even know if she found him? If she's all right?"

"Rogue's got the powers of dozens of mutants. I'm sure she can take on a mugger or two."

"This is serious, Bobby!"

"I am being serious!"

"No you're not!"

"At least I'm keeping my cool!"

"Easy for an ice cube to say!"

Bobby growled irritably, "Usually I do this with Jubes. And it's more fun."

Kitty rolled her eyes, huffed. She crossed her arms and began pacing the kitchen. "Look, we have to tell the Professor."

"Not yet," Bobby insisted. "You should've seen her last night. She was…I don't know. But I am…ninety-eight percent sure she's fine. C'mon, it's _Rogue_. Girl's got resources. And this was something she really really needed to do. I doubt she'd like it if a search posse went out and interrupted it all."

"How are you suddenly so empathetic?" Kitty raised an eyebrow.

Bobby shrugged, "Just go to be, I guess."

"Is it because of Lorna?" Kitty was almost afraid to ask. She was worried; the girl was exhibiting signs for being a nutcase.

"That the gossip these days?" Bobby smirked.

Kitty debated whether or not to tell him. She decided against it, but would inform Hank or the Professor later. At the moment, her best friend was a greater concern. "So what should we do about Rogue then?"

"Let's give her the day at least. She'll come back when she's ready."

Kitty shook her head, "God, I just hope whatever happens, she'll be okay."

-

-

-

Sunlight streamed through the window, carrying with it a breath of late summer air. The breeze whispered of things to come, heralding murmurs of phasing leaves, departing birds, waning light. Oblivious to it all lay a slumbering couple, shielded from the bright sun by the convenient fold of a curtain.

Rogue felt herself gradually waking. She blinked slowly several times and released a light sigh of contentment. Moving was out of the question. Her face rested in the nook between his jaw and shoulder, her right arm cuddling his chest, hand resting on the pillow near his face. She watched her elbow rise and fall with his chest while he breathed, and smiled.

Thinking back on the previous night, a subtle blush crept onto her cheeks. She could not remember ever being so bold with a guy, taking such initiative for actions she had no experience in whatsoever. And what they had done…a pleasurable shiver simmered up her spine. No other feeling in the world compared to the sensation of making love with Remy. Nothing had ever felt so right, given her such a sense of intoxicating delirium. She remembered their congruous moans of pleasure, heard again his deep, incoherent whispers of sweet nothings in her ear.

She felt him stir. His arm around her waist, loosened through the night, pulled her close once again. She felt his fingers stroking her hip, caressing her flat stomach.

"Mmm…" he sighed.

Rogue nuzzled her face against his throat, kissing the bob of his Adam's apple.

Remy didn't open his eyes as her lips traveled up to his face. "M'dreamin'," he murmured drowsily. "Or dead. Angels're only in heaven."

A light chuckle bubbled from Rogue's throat, "You're an idiot, Remy."

He grinned and rolled over, grabbing her arms and pinning her down on the bed. "Tough luck. Y'stuck wit' me."

"Guess Ah can live with that," she sighed listlessly, then looked up at him and smiled, unable to keep a façade of disinterest.

Remy only looked at her for a while, examining the lusciously green gleam in her eyes, the velvet pillows of her lips, her smooth ivory cheeks. There was a barely perceptible glow about her, this light he couldn't tear his eyes from. Dieu, she really was beautiful, inhumanly so. He noticed a blush blossom under the creaminess of her cheeks and couldn't help smirking. He leaned in, nudging her nose with his, "Makin' y'nervous, chere?"

She huffed and turned away defiantly, "Neva."

"Sapristi! Where's de fun den?" he actually pouted.

Rogue giggled heartily and pecked him on the lips, "We'll find some way ta—" Her words stopped as he returned the kiss. Surprised, but not displeased, she let him have his way with her. An involuntary moan escaped her mouth between caresses. She pulled him against her, remembering their blissful closeness from just hours before, and shuddered.

"Rogue…" he murmured against her lips, as he nuzzled her throat. He lay still then, resting in her embrace, breath smooth and even.

She frowned in concern, "Somethin' the matter?"

"Non…jus' t'inkin'."

"About leavin'?"

A moment of silence passed, then, "Has t'happen."

Rogue felt a stinging behind her eyes and quickly blinked it away. She sighed, ran her fingers through the locks of his hair. "Ah know."

He pulled away from her to a sitting position. "Dis de last t'ing I wan' do," he said.

Rogue nodded as she sat up, holding the satin blankets to her chest. "Ah know," she said again, tone assuring him of her sincerity. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, felt him wrap an arm around her back. "Ah just wish we had more time…. Doesn't feel…fair."

Remy cradled her chin in his fist, tilted her head up to look at him. "We'll have all de time in de world, chere, when I get back."

She closed her eyes as he kissed her, willed the burning sensation in her nose to go away. No crying, even though she wanted badly to go with him. Remembering the type of people in New Orleans, she grew nervous on his behalf. What if he got hurt? What if Julien and the Assassins tried to kill him again and actually succeeded? She would never accept such a notion, especially after she had felt him so close, had a taste of his irreplaceable presence. She couldn't let anyone take him away.

Remy cradled her head under his chin, stroking her hair absent-mindedly with his free hand. "Almost time," he murmured.

Rogue nuzzled closer against him, "Just wait a few moments."

He kissed her forehead, closed his eyes. "F'you chere, anyt'ing."

The morning sun continued to rise, its light brightening by the minute and casting the room in a golden hue. A warm breeze rustled the curtains, whispering secrets of coming things; it murmured of dimming light, waning days, and the fading life heralding the next solstice. The couple sat, cradled around each other, wrapped in feelings they both felt so palpably. Neither wanted to let go though they knew it to be inevitable, to be necessary for their own sakes. Uncertainty clouded their thoughts; comfort and warmth swathed their flesh and hearts. They would go their separate ways for now, but they would never forget. They were too much a part of each other.

-

-

-

It was past midmorning when Logan was convinced not to send a search party out for Rogue. He glowered while irritably rubbing his knuckles. "This is a bad idea, Chuck," he gritted. "The girl's head flipped out on her and you're just gonna let her keep wandering around who knows where…" He shook his head.

Ororo calmly sipped a brew of Columbian coffee. She sat in an armchair before the Professor's desk, dressed in a tank top, thin white duster, and brown pants that alloyed with her mocha complexion. "Rogue is no doubt in Manhattan if seeking Gambit," she said reasonably. "And it seems to me we have too many conversations questioning Rogue's capabilities. Of all our X-Men she has the most resources. She is not a child, Logan."

He grunted but remained silent.

Kitty released the breath she had been holding. She never did like it when Logan got all protective and scary, especially when it was over Rogue. Everyone knew the girl was special to him, probably because he saw so much of himself in her. Despite how he did not agree with her actions at times, he knew they were the exact things he would have done.

"Was there anything else you wanted to share with us, Kitty?" the Professor asked.

She shook her head and stood to leave, then abruptly sat back down. "Actually, yeah." She bit her lip, wondering if it was even her place to mention anything. If Hank hadn't reported anything abnormal, who was she to diagnose ailments?

Logan plopped down on a chair beside Ororo and poured himself some coffee. He downed half the mug in one gulp. "Well, Half-Pint? Spit it out."

"It's…about Lorna," Kitty said reluctantly. "She…uh…well, before I found out that Rogue was missing, I heard her, like, talking to herself…" She glanced uncertainly at the three adults.

The Professor raised his eyebrows but didn't appear too troubled.

"People talk to themselves all the time, kiddo," Logan smirked. He refilled his mug of coffee.

Kitty pursed her lips together. She hated being talked to like a…half-pint. "Well, _duh_, Logan, but the way Lorna was doing it…like, God, it was creepy. She was almost hissing some of the time, like, arguing with herself—or some voice in her head."

"Do you remember the things she said?"

Thinking back hard, Kitty found that she couldn't. "Not really. But it sounded like something was telling her what to do and she was arguing with it not to."

Ororo exchanged looks with Logan, then both glanced at the Professor.

"Hank is examining her now," he said. "I'll inform him of this, Kitty. Thank you."

She nodded and stood to leave. Before she left the room she said one last thing: "Don't mention this to Bobby. I think he, like, really likes her. It'd suck to have to worry about something that could just be nothing."

"Duly noted, Kitty."

She closed the door behind her as she walked out, chewing on the inside of her cheek. There were way too many things to think about—like always. Sometimes she seriously considered giving up the whole X-Men gig, but then she thought about all her friends, this family, and all the good they had done and…well, it was just worth it. She just had to be strong enough.

By then most of the mansion's residents were awake. Kitty descended to the first floor and could hear sounds of chatter and food preparation coming from the kitchen. She wasn't hungry and headed to the rec room. The day was perfect—not as warm as previous ones had been, but still pleasant. She opened the windows wide and basked in the sunlight while contemplating what to do. Not ten minutes into her peaceful rest, she heard a foreign noise in the distance. It was so faint, so subtle, that she thought she was hearing things at first. She sat up and looked out the window, listening closely.

The rumbling of a motorcycle. Kitty's eyes widened when she peered at the Institute's front gate. Two familiar figures stood on the street. She scrambled off her seat and hurried for the door.

The breeze gently ruffled her hair, white and auburn strands fluttering with the grace of feathers, to and fro about her sad face. She was smiling, but he knew it was put on. She was always so brave, always so composed and strong, but at that moment her eyes gave away every emotion he knew and felt himself.

Remy looked away from her face, down to his fingers gently stroking her smooth hands. Her ivory skin, once so poisonous, once so forbidden, sat upon his in a feathery tremble of gentle sorrow. He tugged her closer, breathed the sweet, flowery scent of her hair. Memories of their night together stirred into the present; he could almost feel again the arduous ripples of her heated body against his, the massage of her plush lips allaying his any and every discomfort. He heard again their harmonious moans of elation, rapturous sighs of euphoria that proved the reality of their mutual heaven. And he was leaving it all behind? For what, for a past that had always been a burden, a family and a calling that never delivered such contentment, such a divine sense of something wonderful and lasting and true…? Her breath upon his skin, her touch, her voice…

"Ah wasn't going to," Rogue said softly. Her lush eyelashes brushed against his lips as she spoke. "But if Ah don't…Ah might not…" She leaned back ever so slightly to look at him, gazing into his anomalous eyes that she loved. "Take me with you?"

Remy blinked. It was not a plead; it was not a command. She asked in a tone of such level, simple rationality that it seemed the most lucid thing in the world to do. Why not? He didn't want to leave her as much as she didn't want to be left behind…then, violently, images of her reception in New Orleans flashed into his awareness. He foresaw surprise and vehement resentment, a bitter contempt that threatened her livelihood, and hence, his. Anger flared within him, hot and surging, at the mere thought.

She read his face. Her head drooped. "Had ta try," she sighed, weakly smiling. The half-hearted gesture seemed to stab him in the chest.

"M'sorry," he said hoarsely, stroking her cheek. "Y'know I would if I could…." He kissed her gently, begging her to accept it, to not be saddened.

She leaned into him, as if trying to reclaim that closeness from the night before. Her mouth spoke no words, but told him of her agony and elation, her dread and yearning. He understood; he felt it, cherished and loathed it, too. But each passing moment, each feeling and detail of the day, the time, her, he forced into memory. He could never forget. For a while at least, memories would be all he would have.

Tears trickled onto his cheeks, but they didn't belong to him. Dieu, she didn't deserve this. She was right, what she said about always hurting. But wasn't that how it was, wasn't this meant to be blissful, bittersweet torture? The severance wouldn't last forever anyway. He would only be gone for a few weeks, maybe a couple months, with every intention of getting back as soon as possible…

Rogue sighed against his lips, head drooping forward to rest on his chin. She brushed away her tears and sniffed, blinking several times. When she finally looked at him, she smiled, beautiful eyes glistening in their green quintessence. "Don't forget me."

He almost huffed at the absurdity of the thought, "C'est impossible, chere."

Rogue laughed softly. Sardonic. Mournful. The frolicsome breeze continued playing with her hair. She shook milky locks from her face, saw something from the corner of her eye.

Remy followed her gaze. Some ways off, a petite, brunette figure was walking hesitantly down the mansion's driveway. She stopped upon realizing she had been spotted.

"Well," Rogue sighed, wiping her eyes again, "Ah think you better go. Before…"

"'Fore what?"

Rogue smirked, "Before Ah find some way ta stop ya."

"If only, chere, if only."

She nodded, slowly reaching into the pocket of her jacket. "Ah went back to get this because…Ah didn't know what'd happen when Ah found you, but Ah wanted you to have it." In her palm sat a slightly bent playing card, a florid depiction of the Queen of Hearts.

A forlorn smile subtly curved the edges of Remy's mouth. "Knew y'kept it," he murmured, gently taking the card from her.

Rogue smiled with fondness at the memories, at the thoughts of their first instances together. Had it only been that long ago? Feeling a familiar burning behind her eyes, she desperately blinked to keep the tears at the bay. She couldn't start crying again.

He tucked the Queen of Hearts into an inner pocket of his trench coat, on the left side of his chest. "M'gon' hold on t'it like s'you," he promised. His gaze was steady, the red of his pupils glowing amorously in twin seas of blackness. His lips parted to say something, but closed when no words came.

Rogue looked away—any longer and she would weep. She rested her cheek against his, eyelashes brushing his smooth, tawny skin. Her breath came in frightened depletion, betraying the vastness of her sorrow. It felt as though her heart was breaking. Really breaking. "Good bye, Remy," she murmured, stepping back.

He watched her inch away, felt like something was being chipped away from him with every bit of distance she gained. He saw her sad eyes, a green that had radiated in the afterglow of their one night, now so sullen and damp. Desolé, mon ange, de tout mon cœur. "Wait f'me," he said, holding onto the last centimeters of her fingers. "Don' forget 'bout dis, chere."

Rogue nodded, promised, "Ah won't." She clamped her lips together, turned to leave, but halted as he tugged her back. She felt his kiss once again, his comforting closeness, drinking him in with desperate fervor. He kissed her jaw, her cheek, her ear, whispered, "Je t'aime." Then, as she stood to catch her breath, he mounted the motorcycle and geared the engine. Without looking back he tore away down the street.

Rogue watched the flap of his trench coat as he grew smaller and smaller in the distance. She wiped her eyes, grew surprised when no more tears came. He would be back someday. She wasn't sure how long she stood there, eyes closed, allowing the wind to caress her face, play with her hair. When Kitty finally called her name, she turned to look at her friend.

"He…he left?" Kitty asked hesitantly.

Rogue mutely nodded.

The brunette pursed her lips, put a hand on her friend's shoulder.

"He's coming back," Rogue murmured, looking off into the distance. She could no longer see him. "Ah know he'll be back…but it still just…" Her eyes drooped to the ground.

"Hurts," Kitty finished for her, voice low and downcast. She observed Rogue's vague nod, the saddened curve of her mouth, her heavy eyes. She grasped her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "It'll work out, Rogue," she promised. "Everything'll be okay. You'll see."

Rogue smiled wanly. "Thanks, Kit." She followed Kitty back through the Institute gates. As the wrought-iron bars closed behind them, she glanced back, almost seeing him there on the street as they had stood only moments before. Slowly, clouding over images of his departure, however unjustified, came a sliver of dread slithering its way into her senses. There was something, an inner feeling, a gut instinct that whispered and taunted, that warned her of…of what? She didn't know, couldn't possibly begin to guess. It was just a feeling, and there were others she felt more strongly.

She felt the warmth he granted her, the comfort, the passion to live that nothing and no one had ever been able to provide before. He had given her, taken from her, so much more than anyone.

Kitty opened the mansion's front door and stood in its passageway. She waited for her friend to follow.

Rogue numbingly mounted the steps. Suddenly, she realized she didn't even have a picture of him, nothing to remember him by. She bit her lip, wishing for a tangible image, just a sketch, something—anything—to prove that he, that they, had been real. Tears threatened to betray her irrational alarm. She had nothing of him—

Except memories. Images in her mind, feelings burned into her flesh.

"Rogue?"

She looked up at Kitty, saw her friend, saw the X-men, saw the life that had defined who she was, that would determine who she would become. And she saw Remy, her first love, the one person who could fill the void she would otherwise always carry—despite the meaningful fight for greater good, despite the family of surrogate kin, despite herself.

_I'll take care o'dis, chere. Promise._

_M'gon' hold on t'it like s'you._

_Wait f'me. Don' forget 'bout dis, chere._

Rogue shook her head. Yes, she wanted him near. Yes, she needed him. But she couldn't lose sight of herself in the midst of this bittersweet sadness. She was here; she was alive; she would keep fighting like she always had and always would. He was with her, even while he was gone. She had the memories. She had the feelings.

And they were enough.

Rogue lifted her head with a new sense of…absolution? certainty? faith? hope? and entered the mansion. Glancing one last time beyond the gates of the X-Men sanctuary, she turned away and pushed the door shut.

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Translations:

_Desolé, mon ange, de tout mon cœur_--_Sorry my angel, with all my heart._

_Je t'aime--I love you._

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**THE END—! Can you believe it? Wait, I mean TO BE CONTINUED.**

**_Demon In My View_ is officially concluded!** But don't despair too much—there's that **SEQUEL** that I've been broadcasting for some chapters now. The story goes on…as soon as I find a suitable title for it. —rolls eyes at self— Any suggestions anyone? Has to encompass the whole "Rogue and Gambit" theme into a few words—because the sequel is going to be on a grander scale than _Demon In My View_ .

I'm sorry about review replies. In case I forgot to say, my laptop crashed (AGAIN!) and I had to rewrite some of this chapter and the review replies got erased—they take too long to write to redo. So sorry if anybody likes them.

**About the ending of this fic**…don't be mad, please. The story goes on. There are some—no, MANY—things that have been left unresolved.

1 – Remy's return to New Orleans and his reception

2 – Lorna's mutation issues and her relationship with Bobby

3 – Power negating collars

4 – Sinister's activities and Morph

5 – Magneto's long happening "project"

**I think that's all of them**. And they're all going to make for an exciting sequel that I am very eager to write.

**SO VERY **SORRY that this chapter took so long to get up—and being the last one, too. Geez, I'm just awful. How long's it been? A month? That's a record for me! But with AP tests coming up and school winding down (summer's almost here…), I won't be having time for a while, but pretty soon I'll have plenty of time.

**Wow**. It's over (for now). Wow. I planned this ending since like Chapter 7 or something. That's a long time gone… Wow. Reflecting on it now, I never anticipated it to last or get this long. Crazy. Ok, I'll stop being such a dork.

Stay tuned for the sequel!

Love you all—I do it for you!

Raven


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